Snake Among the Lions
by Kira Regulus Black
Summary: Dumbledore left Harry at the Dursley's knowing he would be abused. What if Harry was more like Tom Riddle than he knew? What if he was a bit smarter this time? Quite obviously AU, Dark!Harry Manipulative!Harry Independent!Harry Poss. Evil!Harry
1. Glow

Ever since he was little, all Harry had known was his cupboard. He was let out occasionally, to be seen and to do chores, but he was always shoved back in afterwards and forgotten about. At meals, scraps were pushed through the small slot installed by Uncle Vernon. Harry ate them greedily. He couldn't afford to waste them.

His cupboard was small, not unduly so, but nonetheless cramped. And it was completely dark except for his 'glow.' Harry had found the 'glow' one day after being let out to clean the attic. He had seen it glint in the corner- a quarter-sized spun glass globe with an engraved silver clasp for a chain- and had shoved it in his pocket hastily, hoping no one would notice its disappearance. No one had. He had been thrown in early that day, since Dudley had come by unexpectedly with Piers Polkiss, a weedy looking kid who generally held peoples' arms while Dudley hit them, and of course he couldn't let his 'freakishness' infect poor Dudders and his adorable friends, now, could he?

Harry punched the wall in frustration. A satisfying smack rang in the cupboard, then Harry was on the floor, clutching his throbbing hand. He shed no tears. Years at the Dursleys' had taught him that much, at least.

It was only after he'd calmed down that he realized it was brighter in the cupboard than usual. much brighter, in fact. The glow seemed to be coming from his pocket. Harry fished in his pocket for a few seconds before pulling out a clear glass globe. It gently glowed with a pure light in the darkness, turning the stark cupboard into a strange place of dancing shadows and light. As he watched, entranced, it shifted subtly to an eerie green glow. It reminded him of something he couldn't _quite_ remember. He fell asleep that night clutching it to his chest and dreaming of strange green lights and darkened rooms and a lady with fire-red hair blazing as bright as the sun.

Harry kept his glow with him everywhere he went. He had even managed to scrounge a long piece of string from Aunt Petunia's sewing basket when she wasn't looking, and hung his glow around his neck like a pendant. He knew if any of the Dursleys ever caught sight of his pendant they would take it away.

Harry didn't 'talk' to the pendant, per se. It seemed to know how he felt, and sympathize. Once or twice, he found himself talking to it in his cupboard as if it could really understand him. It had somehow always glowed reassuringly brighter after these 'conversations.' And Harry had always felt safe and warm.

oOXOo

Harry bolted down the street. He could hear the jeering voices of Dudley and his gang not far behind. They had waited in back of the school by his usual exit for him. And he had fallen for it- like an idiot. Something- someone hit his back. Harry fell hard on the sun-baked cement, probably bloodying something. No time. He had to run- Another foot hit his back, bouncing him back onto the pavement. His glow flew out of his shirt.

_no no no no no no no-_

"Well look at what the freak has here."

_give it back give it back give it back-_

He curled up in a ball. He was hurt more that day, more than any other. It wasn't his scrapes and bruises, he was used to those. It was the empty feeling in his chest. Of something lost.

_Why could Dudley take my glow from me?_

_He has more power._

_It is power that rules the world._

_I will gain more power._

_And he will regret taking anything from me._

_And so he learned._


	2. Do Unto Others

The residents of 4 Privet Drive were terrified. They were not terrified because Voldemort had risen again- and again he had, though no one knew it- or because there had been a 'terrorist' attack quite near them. No, they were terrified because of a small boy with messy black hair by the name of Harry James Potter. Now, one might wonder why two grown adults and one very fat child would be afraid of a skinny eleven-year-old wearing baggy clothes. What could he possibly do? Unfortunately for them, young Harry was a wizard. A very powerful wizard, in complete control of his power. And whenever young Harry became angry…

CRASH!

…Things happened. Unnatural things. Like thunder and hail when a mere five seconds before there had been not a single cloud in the sky. The houses in a seven-block radius of 4 Privet Drive mysteriously plunged into a power outage that the electricians couldn't make heads or tails of. Their block being mysteriously invaded by millions of poisonous snakes. Strange symbols being written on all the crisp, whitewashed fences- in blood. Needless to say, the Dursleys were a tad… worried. About what might happen _this_ time.

The lights went out.

"In here darling!"

The Dursleys huddled in the cupboard under the stairs, fearing for their lives. Strange wails emanated from upstairs. Dudley began to cry.

"I'm scared, Mommy!"

"Hush, popkin. If we're quiet, maybe he'll forget about us."

The Dursleys waited in anxious silence.

oOXOo

Said 11-year-old was currently collapsed on his king-sized bed in the master bedroom, trying his best to hold in snickers.

'Maybe the wails were a bit much.' he thought, snorting. 'Dudley's about to wet himself.'

He sprawled on the bed, staring up at the sky.

'The stars are nice tonight… Oh crap.'

"The ceiling!" He bolted upright.

Harry considered the hole dubiously.

'Whatever. As long as it doesn't rain.'

A scream sounded from downstairs. He snickered.

'Ah, the sound of music…'

oOXOo

Twelve hours later, the Dursleys were dead on their feet and scared witless. Vernon sat listlessly at the table, his jumbo coffee cup in his hand just barely keeping his head from landing in his scrambled eggs. Dudley had his face planted firmly in his toast. Despite how tired they were, they still instantly jolted upright when the kitchen door slammed open.

"GOOOOOOD MORNING, AMERICA!"

Dudley ran and hid behind Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon dropped his coffee cup to the floor, where it shattered and splattered Turkish coffee all over his loafers and dressing gown. Harry smirked vindictively.

"Well? Aren't you going to greet me?"

All three Dursleys immediately stammered out a 'good morning.'

"Tsk, tsk, now is that any way to treat a nephew? Again."

All three repeated themselves, a bit louder this time.

"I'll let it slide this time, just because I'm such a good person. You should thank me."

No one moved.

"THANK ME!"

The coffee pot exploded. Vernon visibly ground his teeth, but managed to restrain himself somehow. The Dursleys muttered their way through a 'thank you.'

"I see I'll have to teach you manners. Oh, whatever, I'm starving. What's for breakfast, 'Tunia?" he sang, plopping down in a chair and propping his feet on the table.

Aunt Petunia held up a full-style continental breakfast.

"Well? Don't just stand there, woman! Serve it already!"

She did so. Harry grinned. He just _knew_ it was going to be a good day.


	3. The Owl and the Letter

Tap.

"G'way"

Taptap. Silence.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptap.

Harry groaned and rolled over, stuffing his pillow over his head.

.

HOOT!

Tap-BANG.

Something heavy and feathered landed on the pillow over his head and began to vigorously peck him.

"OW!" Harry shot up. The feathered something fell off with an indignant hoot. He rubbed his aching head.

"What?" He glared at the owl. The owl glared back, raising that thrice-damned beak up to catch the light and glint menacingly. A letter flopped to the floor and it nudged it towards him. He ripped it open after one more furious glare at the owl that was now innocently preening itself in the middle of his floor.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Students,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September (or when you happen to register). We await your owl after registration.

Harry stared at the letter, hyperventilating. There were others like him? Could they tell? Did someone know? He shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, calmer. He picked up the smaller letter that had fallen out of the envelope.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform  
_First year students will require:_

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

Set Books  
_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _by Miranda Goshawk_

A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot_

Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling_

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch_

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllida Spore_

Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger_

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _by Newt Scamander_

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble_

Other Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl, a cat, a rat, or a toad.  
Students can purchase this equipment at Diagon Alley, acessable through the Leaky Cauldron in Charing Cross, London. (A/N: yes, I know this isn't in the letter, but it should be. How the _heck_ do all the muggleborns find it?)

Harry frowned. Diagon Alley? As he reread the letters, a slow smile broke across his face. He scribbled a reply on a spare sheet of paper and handed it to the owl.

"Oh, _Ver~non_!"

Downstairs, Uncle Vernon cringed visibly.

"Guess wha~at! We're going shopping!"


	4. Catnip and Revelations

The tabby cat that had been skulking around 4 Privet Drive for the past few weeks lay on the sunwarmed brick wall and stared dubiously at the row of identical houses with neat gardens and sparkling grey slate roofs. Well. It was slightly better than it had expected. There were no screaming muggles, rampaging Death Eaters, and no little boys being forced into almost-slavery. There was also no Harry Potter.

It took a step forward, and after delicately licking its ears and surreptiously looking for watchful muggles, jumped neatly off the high brick wall and sauntered over to the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive. There the tabby disappeared, startling a nearby robin into flight, and a tall, strict-looking woman with her steel grey hair tied firmly back in a bun appeared. She rang the bell.

Minerva fully expected to be ejected from the property face forward, courtesy of a screaming muggle, and was fully prepared to scout around and find one Harry Potter in cat form, if necessary. One did not take orders from Albus Dumbledore lightly. Even so, she would not abandon the poor boy here, of all places. She still remembered her first impression of the occupants of the house she was currently standing in front of- the worst sort of muggles- and never once had that decision wavered in her mind, especially with what little information she had gleaned from the neighborhood children. Still, one expected the Headmaster knew what he was doing…

So, Minerva was noticeably surprised when the door was opened by a black-haired boy with dancing emerald eyes, the very picture of Lily and James Potter. He looked in good health, and was dressed in neat slacks and a polo. He didn't look abused, or starving. Perhaps Petunia had taken a gentler approach to him, treating him as one of her own.

"-as to who you are?"

"Pardon me?" she asked politely. "I didn't quite catch what you said."

"Oh, that's perfectly alright." he answered, just as politely. "May I ask as to who you are?"

"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts." Minerva said formally. "Are you Mr. Harry Potter?"

There was no doubt in her mind, really, about who he was, but it didn't hurt to ask.

"Yes, I am." he said, smiling. "Would you like to come in for tea?"

"I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"Oh, no, it's fine. Welcome in!"

He led her into the living room, where quite a few pictures of what looked like a big peach colored quaffle in different colored bonnets resided on the walls.

"This is my cousin Dudley." He pointed at the pictures. "He's with his friends right now, and won't be back until later."

Minerva nodded and smiled appropriately. Of course, she knew perfectly well what the smallest Dursley was doing with his 'friends' right now, having watched them spray painting a garden shed before she came in. Harry vanished off to the kitchen to fetch a spot of tea, and she waited patiently in the living room as she heard sounds of rattling dishes. He was back soon with a tray of biscuits, two teacups, and his Hogwarts letter. The tray and the teacups went on the tea table; the Hogwarts letter he handed her. She peered at it over her spectacles.

"Yes, yes, this is quite in order." She looked up. "Is there anything you would like to ask me? For instance, most of those not wizard-born want to see a sign that this is true, that it's not a practical prank…"

His eyes glowed. "Yes, please. I mean, if it isn't too much trouble…" He radiated uncertainty.

"It isn't really a problem. It's common sense to ask, after all."

She flicked her wand, making her tea cup float into the air away from her. She flicked it again, and it turned into a gerbil. Once more, it turned back into a teacup.

"If you want, I can do something that you name, to show it's not a trick."

He shook his head. "Really, it's fine. No one would go to this much trouble to plan out a practical joke."

"Would you like to get your school supplies now, if it's alright?"

"It's fine. I can go by myself. It's not that big of a trip."

She gazed at him critically. "If you say so…"

They chatted merrily for a few more minutes of Hogwarts, before she rose to go.

"I wish you a good day, then. I'm afraid I must go."

"Perfectly fine, Professor. Perfectly fine."

She walked out the door, charmed by the young man's sweet and completely naïve nature. It was a dark world, after all. How often was it that you found one so young, and so polite? The boy had obviously inherited all of his parents' better traits. Oblivious, she walked down the street happily to a nearby alley, and apparated.

Harry stared after her, a sneer spreading across his face. For a professor, she didn't see what was in front of her very face. He looked back down at the Hogwarts letter clutched tightly in his hand. It was real. And it was his.


	5. In Which Vernon Thinks A Very Bad Word

Vernon expertly wove through the mid-afternoon traffic rush, nearly causing quite a few accidents on the way. He pulled up to the curb in a squeal of tires, next to an old beat up building with a sign proclaiming it to be the 'Leaky Cauldron' in faded letters. Roughly shoving Harry out of the car, and slamming the door behind him, he prepared to make his escape. Harry brushed some non-existent dust off his brand-new slacks.

"Oh, Vernon~" His eyes sparkled dangerously. Vernon rolled the window down. He could have pretended he didn't hear the boy, but he didn't have a death wish.

"What?" he growled.

"Tsk, tsk, so rude. I see I'll have to teach you some manners." Vernon paled.

"Wh-What w-would you l-like, d-dear nephew?"

He smiled. "That's better. What I would like is some money. McGonagall mentioned a school trust fund, but it's better to be safe than sorry. 50 pounds ought to do it."

Vernon considered his options carefully. 50 pounds was a lot of money. But when compared with the alternative… It was a short decision. The money changed hands.

"Ta ta, Uncle."

Vernon started to roll up his window, relieved. There hadn't been one mention of him returning. Maybe he could-

"Oh, and Uncle? If you even _think_ of leaving me here? I will find out. And it will not go well for you." The dark shadow that had spread across his face instantly disappeared, and he was a charming and handsome young man once more.

"Bye! Have a nice trip!"

Harry waved as Vernon gunned the accelerator for all it was worth. The sooner he was away from that freak, the better. Harry watched him go. _That was almost too easy._ He considered the door. _Well._ And he opened it and slipped in.

oOoOo

The Leaky Cauldron was a dark, bustling place, filled with the sort of people that you see skulking around alleys and dark, shadowy places that mothers shoo their children away from. Only these people had a strangely magical twist.

There was a sea of black, pointed witch hats- apparently there was some sort of Witches' Convention going on, and there were hags and strange people wrapped in muumuus, and a couple of battle-worn men in long robes lounging at the bar. Harry could have sworn he saw a pair of fangs flash at his from the darkness in the far back. There were a series of fireplaces that were glowing bright emerald green along one of the side walls, and people were constantly being spat out of or jumping into them. No body looked as if this was in any way out of the normal. Harry stared, but managed to hide it under a blank mask.

A grimy barkeep wearing an apron and a silver nametag that said 'Tom' on it in burnished letters was taking orders from a couple of black-robed figures at the counter. Harry mentally shrugged. _Why not try?_ He concentrated, and soon tears began to well up in his eyes. He blinked slightly and opened his eyes extra-wide in a way he knew made him look adorable.

He stumbled up to the counter, nearly tripping over his own feet once or twice. The witches convention immediately proclaimed him 'sweet' and began fussing over him. Harry pretended to be scared and made a show of backing away into the counter.

"Hey little guy, your parent's in Diagon?" Tom asked, gently, noticing his tears.

Harry nodded shyly, glancing at the floor and flushing.

A sudden understanding dawned in Tom's eyes and he looked at the boy in front of him with gentle reproach.

"You wandered away from your mum in Diagon, didn't you. And now you can't get back?"

Harry nodded, more tears welling up. He secretly sent a surge of magic at Tom, suggesting he help him out and show him the way to Diagon.

"I dint mean to though! I just saw a rock, an…" he stuttered to a stop, looking up at the barkeep with large, round eyes. All the witches cooed again.

"And you fell through?"

Harry could see the hint of a smile hidden in his face. _It's working!_ Harry sent another surge of magic at the barkeep and inhabitants of the bar. They would remember a little boy with brown eyes and a gap-toothed smile, not him. A slight haze stole across the barkeep's eyes, but was soon gone.

"It's fine." Tom reassured, patting Harry on the back. "Follow me. Your mum is probably frantic."

He led Harry through a door in the back, pulling out a wand. He tapped some bricks in the back wall in a seemingly random order. Harry stored it away for future reference. Quite suddenly, an archway was _there_, and what had been a brick wall was completely gone now and replaced by a bustling marketplace. Tom turned to him with concern in his eyes.

"Are you sure you can find your mum? I can go with you if you want, or maybe Gertrude could."

Harry shook his head emphatically.

"Mum's at the bookstore." He answered, hoping that there was indeed a bookstore. "I know how to get back."

Tom eyed Harry- or rather the sweet little brown-eyed boy- with a doubtful eye.

"You'll be fine? Stay away from Knockturn?"

Harry nodded.

"Thanks, mister!"

He ran through the archway, waving to the barkeep. Tom watched him go, the archway closing behind him.

"Well, I never…"

Tom scratched his head, wondering what he was doing out back when there were customers to be served.

"TOM, ARE YOU GOING TO GET THOSE PIES OR NOT?"

"Coming!" he called back and meandered back in.

In the corner of the pub sat a man swathed in a black cloak. He clutched a tankard of Firewhiskey, staring after where the black-haired teen had gone. Crimson eyes glinted in the darkness.

"Well… This shall be a strange year…"

oOoOoOo

Harry stared up at the huge marble building, reading the words- were they _carved_ into the doors?- on the large double doors.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed__  
__Of what awaits the sin of greed,__  
__For those who take, but do not earn,__  
__Must pay most dearly in their turn.__  
__So if you seek beneath our floors__  
__A treasure that was never yours,__  
__Thief, you have been warned, beware__  
__Of finding more than treasure there. _(PS5)

He raised his eyebrows at the last. It was a _bank_, after all. Though whoever it was keeping the money seemed extraordinarily stingy about giving it back. Well, he wasn't here to steal anything today. Shaking his head, he pushed open one of the doors and walked in.

The inside of Gringrotts was a rather elegant hall, with plush carpets, soaring marble columns, and doors lining the sides of the spacious entrance hall. There were goblins and wizards everywhere. Harry got into one of the teller lines and waited patiently. When he got to the front, he asked the goblin teller politely about the Hogwarts trust fund.

"They're called vaults, Mudblood." The teller spat, not nearly as politely. Harry didn't know what the word 'mudblood' meant, but he was pretty sure it was an insult.

"Excuse me," he snapped, his voice frosty. "I am going to Hogwarts, and I need money. I have just waited in a line for an hour and now you're telling me you can't help me?" Sparks of magic danced along his body. The teller quailed.

A nearby goblin took pity on him.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter. Though I doubt you will ever need to access the school trust fund. My name is Griphook."

The teller gasped. Harry studied the goblin's wrinkled face.

"How did you know my name?"

"You should probably know." Griphook muttered under his breath, staring at his forehead. Harry self-consciously flattened his bangs over the mysterious scar he had always had.

When he was young, Aunt Petunia had told him he had gotten it in a car crash when his drunk parents had lost control of their car. Only an idiot would have believed her stupid story. Especially since Harry could still hear at times a flash of green light and a high, cold laugh…

"-tter?"

He blinked.

"I'm sorry, I seem to have lost you."

The goblin's aged face curled into a smirk. "This way Mr. Potter."

He led Harry through a side door into a cart. One heart-stopping ride later, the cart glided to a stop seemingly in the middle of nowhere in the maze of tunnels. Griphook clambered self-importantly out of the cart onto a platform that had mysteriously appeared only seconds before. He slid a finger down a stone in the wall, and a door melted out of the stonework. Griphook took out a small key and unlocked it, motioning Harry to step inside. He did so.

Griphook's office was small and sparsely furnished, yet still somehow comfortable and cozy in its smallness. There was a shelf with a large silver bowl and a few trinkets on it, and Harry thought he saw a photo of a smiling goblin family hidden on the paperwork on his desk before Griphook cleared it away. Harry sat on the provided wooden chair while Griphook rummaged around for something in his desk. At last, Griphook surfaced with a thin silver dagger, which he dropped on the now-clear desk, and began searching for something else. He finally wound up bringing the silver bowl from the shelf. Now that it was closer, Harry could see it had strange runes engraved around the rim. Griphook brushed one, and the basin filled with crystal-clear water. He handed the dagger to Harry. Harry looked at it blankly.

"You need a drop of blood to tell what vaults you've inherited." Griphook said by way of explanation. "It should heal afterwards."

"Vaults? Inherited? What are you talking about? I've never heard of any of this!"

"I am quite sure you have a trust vault bequeathed to you by your parents, but you also have the Potter vault and you may have others by right of inheritance. This test will show which vaults and families you are descended from, and therefore have."

Harry nodded to show he understood. His mind was working furiously, vowing to find out more about this sudden fame. He nicked a finger, letting a single drop of blood fall into the basin. The nick immediately healed. It immediately clouded over, a dark crimson. Griphook said something in Gobbledegook. The liquid vanished, and a sheet of paper flamed into being in the air over Griphook's desk. He caught it nimbly.

"Let's see… You have the Potter trust vault and family vault, as expected. The current owner of the Black vaults has made you the heir to the Black vaults, and you are the second heir of the Slytherin family to emerge in several decades. Unfortunately for you, you won't receive either until the current owner dies. You also seem to be related to the Peverells somehow, but as their only legacy is three legendary objects of immense power that have been missing for several decades without a trace, you will not be able to receive anything from them. The gold in the Potter vaults is quite a hefty sum, though, you ought to be able to live comfortably for the rest of your life. There are a few properties that include the house in Godric's Hollow, but you will not receive the deeds until your emancipation or coming of age."

Harry blinked. "…Okay… That's a lot…"

Griphook rolled up the paper and neatly stored it in a bulging filing cabinet. "Would you like to visit your vaults? I can provide a money bag, if you would like."

Harry shook his head. "No thanks. Er, if I could get this money converted, d'you think it would be…"

"Enough?" Griphook completed. "If you're just buying school supplies, you ought to be fine."

He handed over a bulging money bag that clinked, taking the pound notes that Harry held out to him. Harry looked inside and his eyes widened.

"17 Sickles- the silver ones- to a Galleon; 29 Knuts to a Sickle. No, the Knuts are the little copper ones." Griphook watched with some obvious amusement as Harry fiddled with the bag and its valuable contents. No matter how many times he saw muggleborn or muggle-raised's reaction to wizarding money, it never got any less amusing.

oOoOoOo

Walking out of the bank, Harry scanned the shops. Now that he had money, defense was next on the list. Finding what he was looking for, Harry stopped in front of a dusty old shop. _Ollivander's. Makers of fine wands since382 B.C._ He pushed the door open, and walked in.


	6. Never Mess With a Teenage Genius

"Try this one. 13 inches, phoenix feather, elder."

The black-haired boy took the wand, but unlike the dozens of others, he did not immediately discard it. The boy had a curious talent for feeling the energies of various wands. Curious, but disturbing.

"What's wrong? Aren't you going to wave it?"

The boy looked at him blankly, his eyes betraying no other emotion but an innocent confusion.

"Why, sir? I already know this is the one."

There was something wrong with this boy, something terribly wrong. Ollivander could feel it in his bones. The same wrong he had briefly felt when he had fitted Grindlewald and a young Tom Riddle with each of their wands. Like an echoing silence where none should be. But never as much as he did now.

Ollivander had always prided himself on having a drop of seer blood in his veins. Not enough to read the twisted passageways of the future, no. A blessing in disguise. Those true seers who consciously and accurately predicted the future often went mad from trying to unravel the warped strands of fate and change what was to be. Fate did not like being tampered with, and often found ways to fulfill itself, generally worse than the initial set of events. A blessing in disguise indeed.

Ollivander could, however, tell when something world-changing was afoot, as could a handful of others, including the infamous fraud Trelawney. As it was now, and not for the better. But there was naught he could do. It was this he hated. Fate refused to be tampered with. "Try it anyway." The boy brought the wand down, swishing it over his head. Several eerie, pale blue shapes that were unmistakably flames emerged and danced around the interior of the shop, jumping from box to box. Ollivander paled. Ghost-fire. Someone was to die. Several someones, in the near future. All was not well, indeed.

"Yes, yes, all is in order. 17 galleons, please. The big gold ones."

The money changed hands and the door shut firmly behind his newest customer. Ollivander watched the slight retreating back somberly.

"It is coming…" he whispered half to himself.

As if he had seen his steady gaze, the slight boy turned. He met Ollivander's eyes squarely and mouthed the words "It's not over."

Ollivander jerked back, his hand flying to the hilt of his wand. A ghost of a sadistic smirk. He spun around, eyes wild and searching for something, anything. His eyes widened. Seconds later a thump was heard. A cold wind blew through the shop, scattering papers and sending them flying to the floor. And a strangely familiar pale blue flame jumped through the window of the shop and streamed away.


	7. Unforgettable

"Talking"

'_thinking'_

_**spells**_

"Up a bit dear." Madame Malkin fussed. Hermione sighed. She had been in for what felt like **hours**. Nonetheless, she obligingly raised her aching arms two inches higher. A pin stuck her, and she barely resisted yelping. Gritting her teeth, she determinedly tore her eyes away from Madame Malkin's cheerful bustling to stare instead at Fortescue's across the street.

It was a hobby of hers, almost an obsession, to watch the others around her and find out their secrets, what made them tick. Through the years, her readings had become eerily accurate. She could tell the personality of a complete stranger as if she had known them for years simply by a five minute chance conversation. It was also a habit of hers to keep these the majority of these readings to herself.

Hermione was not an idiot, nor was she blind and deaf. Much to the contrary. She had no doubts of what would happen if she were to reveal her 'gift.' There was enough whispering and awkward silences as is. While she had high hopes for Hogwarts, she knew the likelihood of magical children being different was near nil. Children were children, after all.

She had learned that lesson at her first year of primary. No one actually cared. One gained 'friends' by staying quiet, listening, offering a shoulder to cry on. She would not be fooled. Hermoine knew better than anyone how fickle the public were, how cruel they could be. She held no illusions.

Hermione scanned the passerby. A woman with bouncy red curls- doglover, drunk. A man with golden locks and a shiny smile- liar, faker, steals credit from whoever he can. Lazy. Fuzzy grey sideburns- devoted grandfather, probably terminally ill. A harried looking woman- overworked mother with several children. Dreadlocks and golden eyes- pervert, womanizer, heart-breaker. Nondescript brown hair paired with shifty grey eyes-

Her eyes widened. Thief!

Even as she watched, his hand crept closer to the dog lady's unwatched purse. She unconsciously shifted forward in an attempt to stop him, but Madam Malkin's disapproving clucks prevented her from dislodging any more of her dangling pins- and moving another inch. Hermione gaped in horror, but a well-placed _**petrificulus totalus**_ and _**silencio **_from the stubborn seamstress held her absolutely still. She watched helplessly as the man made away with the redhead's money pouch and began to walk away-

only to have a hand grab his wrist firmly.

The messy black-haired teen holding the thief's wrist leaned closer and whispered something in his ear. The man paled. The bag changed hands and was back safely in the dog woman's purse before she ever noticed its absence. The black-haired stranger glanced up.

For a second, Hermione squarely met brilliant emerald eyes. Her surroundings dissolved, and she felt a faint tugging at her mind. Then the boy smirked at her and broke eye contact, fading into the crowd. Hermione released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

'_Well. This could be interesting…' _

_A/N: This will not be a Harry/Hermione fic. No romance as far as I'm concerned. I may hint at crushes, etc, but I cannot realistically write romance.

On a side note, anyone guess who the 'faker' with gold hair and a shiny smile really is?

Hint: His first name begins with 'G' and ends with 'Y.' There are eight letters. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

~K.R.B.


	8. Wormwood and Belladonna

Severus Snape grumbled incoherently as he stalked through Diagon Alley, his black robes flapping impressively. He was not looking forward to the classes of whiny, snot-nosed brats that would be arriving with the bright Hogwarts Express in the fall. Not one bit. Especially as this year, he was guaranteed to have James Potter's son in his classes. No doubt, the boy would be as arrogant and condescending as his kingliness.

His very presence and foul mood cast a dark cloud over the Alley, clearing the crowds of people in his way and soon turning what had been a crowded day into a deserted one. He didn't care. It generally happened anyway, what with his appearance and reputation, and he had better things to do than crowd control.

Somewhere in one of the nearby shops the passerby had ducked into for protection, he heard a baby start to cry. He smirked vindictively, and the cloud hovering over the alley swiftly doubled. The streets were silent, deadly so, and completely bare save one single rat, who, upon seeing Severus, scuttled away, in fear for its life.

Only the denizens of shady at best Knockturn didn't immediately turn tail and run for their lives. Of course, this didn't stop some of the more paranoid and newer vendors from glancing at him nervously and fingering their wands. The regulars recognized him, and called greetings, but knew better than to mess with him in this mood, probably remembering the last hag who couldn't take a hint and had tried to sell him fingernails this close to the start of the school year. It had not ended well on her part.

The street narrowed and grew progressively darker as he walked further on. Severus' mood lifted as he stopped to admire a cursed necklace in Borgin and Burkes, the almost comforting tang of Dark magic tugging at him from inside. A small smile grew on his face. He hadn't completely given up his darkness, no matter what that old senile coot thought.

The dark cloud on the Alley lifted almost instantly with his mood. Snape shot a glare at a nearby vendor who had nearly fainted from sheer relief. It wouldn't do to have his hard-won reputation be ruined, after all. At last, at the end of the Alley, he reached his destination.

Shelves of gleaming potions ingredients winked at him through the dusty window, quite a few of them illegal, poisonous, or both. The bell, carved out of a human skull, (he should know, he had examined it quite a few times) tinkled softly as he slipped in.

The other stores (except perhaps Borgin and Burkes) held only a shadow of true darkness. This place was no shadow; it positively reeked of it. That was actually one of the reasons he liked to visit the store so frequently (the other being that it sold many of the more 'exotic' supplies.) It felt like home, in a way that the dark-purged Hogwarts never had.

Once upon a time, he supposed, before he was little, it had been as much a place of darkness and creatures as it was of magic and light. It had all been destroyed after the rise of Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord. A pity- Severus would have given almost anything to have seen the old Hogwarts- the true Hogwarts.

The Dark was still present, of course, just waiting to take its rightful place. This darkness called to him, and filled him with an undeniable longing because he could not go. The Unforgivables were only a taste, the least of this true darkness, the other 'dark' magic merely a shadow of what could be, what was to come. Soon enough, the Dark would rise.

With a sigh, he pulled himself from his thoughts. No use dwelling on what was past. The gleaming beakers of potions comforted him. This would have to do for now.

Grabbing some boomslang skin along with a miniscule spelled beaker of basilisk venom (it was EXPENSIVE!) he made his way to the counter, noting the various hues and colors of a dozen or so cauldrons simmering behind the counter. He could make out the sluggish mud color of Polyjuice, Felix Felicitus, and a few Ministry-banned poisons.

A messy-haired boy with vibrant emerald eyes was staring at a quietly bubbling cauldron of Draught of Living Death- he was keeping his hands folded behind his back, Severus noted approvingly. The boy seemed oddly familiar, but Severus couldn't quite place him.

He could see hints of light bending- a sure sign of a glamour charm, probably first-year. Merlin knew the boy couldn't be older than a first year- he was short enough. The charm was well-cast, though, and while Severus could tell with his enhanced eyesight that there was a charm, he couldn't tell what lay under it.

Curious at why a first-year might be in Knockturn, he flicked his wand, silently casting a _**finite**_. It hit him, but nothing happened. Severus frowned. The charm was still there, undamaged, he could tell. He flicked his wand again, this time sending a bit more force into his spell. The charm barely flickered as it hit. His frown deepened. That amount of force should have been enough to cancel any first-year spell- no matter how well-cast.

The clerk came out from the back of the store and greeted Severus warmly. His attention diverted, Severus placed his two purchases onto the counter. He could feel the strange boy's eyes watching him. He quickly paid and exited the store. He would have to keep an eye out for the boy at Hogwarts.


	9. Chemistry

Harry frowned as the strange black-robed man strode out of the store, keeping his gaze fixed on the bubbling cauldron of Living Death in front of him, but occasionally sneaking looks out of the corner of his eye at the man's progress.

Once he was completely sure the man had left, he straightened up and walked nonchalantly to the counter, setting his school supplies and some other ingredients on the counter. The store-keep smirked. He had a sneaking suspicion the other man had seen the whole incident.

"That will be 9 Galleons, 20 Sickles, and 20 knuts."

Harry handed over the money, wrestling with his new purchases and his new goblin money bag that had apparently decided to hold a grudge against him. The bag was winning. Harry growled in frustration and held his bags with his teeth while wrenching at the money bag with both hands.

"You know, that was Severus Snape, resident Potions Master at Hogwarts and all that. Also head of Slytherin." the clerk began, casually, too casually.

He finally got it back on properly, and took the bags out of his mouth. His eyebrows rose as he processed the clerk's last statement.

"He is?" _So that's who he is. but why is he in Knockturn? And will he recognize me?_

The clerk nodded emphatically. "He lives at Hogwarts." Then he dropped the bomb. "You two look so cute together! So, when are you going to ask him out?"

Harry turned red and spat out a piece of plastic from the bags.

"WHAT? I'm freakin eleven! And I am NOT interested in him!"

The clerk shrugged. "You never know."

Harry stalked out of the store clutching his purchases, his cheeks burning.

"His favorite color's green!" he heard from behind him.

Harry spun around and sent his best death glare at the clerk.

"I. am. not. interested." he spat, his magic swirling chaotically around him. "Do we understand each other?"

The clerk nodded weakly from where he was pressed against the wall by the force of the angry magic.

"Good."

Harry stormed back to his room in the Leaky, breathing in slowly and practicing his Occlumency exercises (courtesy of some rather sketchy books gained from Borgin and Burkes with some… persuading.) By the time he reached the dusty old wooden sign proclaiming this to be the 'Leaky Cauldron,' he was calm again. At least on the outside. He mentally scanned his memories of his… conversation with the clerk, checking to make sure he hadn't accidentally broken anything. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found nothing broken, maimed, or otherwise occupied. The Dursleys he could handle. An angry army of wizards, he could not. To be fair, he might take down quite a few before he fell, but wizards were much more dangerous than muggles when they put their minds to it.

The Leaky was nearly empty, the usual lunch time cram having left by now. There were a few witches chatting, and the odd auror on lunch break, but most of the wooden tables were empty. Tom waved him over.

"Have a nice day?"

"Yeah, except for this one clerk…"

Tom nodded knowingly. "They do tend to get in your face. Don't blame them too much. It's their job." Tom slid him a plate of sandwiches. "Here. You look half-starved."

Harry seriously doubted that matchmaking was part of a potions clerk's job.

"Thanks."

He picked up the plate and walked upstairs to his room. The sandwiches were delicious. He ate them slowly, savoring the taste as he went through his potions supplies. Merlin knew Petunia couldn't cook.

"Hmm?"

There was a note stuck in between his vials of aconite and essence of belladonna. Harry tugged it out gently, careful not to jar the ingredients.

'_You really would make a good couple, you know.'_ he read.

Harry glared at it. It incinerated, and he was left clutching a pile of ashes.

oOXOo

_Nosy Potions assistant killed in own shop_

_Mysterious killer on loose?_

_by Rita Skeeter_

_More details inside, see pg two_

Harry stared at the headlines. There was a full color wizarding photograph complete with aurors glaring suspiciously around. He smirked. He had known that clerk hadn't had that many friends, but this was more than he expected. Sure, he had seen the betting pools on when he would be killed and who would knock him off, but that was practically standard Knockturn practice. Apparently nosy and gossiping personalities combined with Knockturn were lethal. His smirk grew wider. Someone would be winning a lot of Galleons tonight.


	10. The Train

Molly shot a glance at her watch. Harry should be here any moment, the poor dear, just like Dumbledore instructed. Hopefully he wouldn't get there too late, or they would miss the train. Pity if he did though, the poor boy must be simply starved for something magical of his own.

"Alright dear, just like we practiced. Now, what's the platform?" she asked loudly.

"Nine and three-quarters." Ginny chorused. "Mum, why do we have to do this so early…" she trailed off.

Molly felt someone tap her on the back. She turned around hurriedly. It was an elegant black-haired boy. His eyes were a deep sparkling sapphire, though, and she didn't see a lightning bolt.

"Excuse me, but aren't you breaking the International Wizards' Statute of Secrecy?"

Molly became flustered. Her head hurt… "I-I…"

"Please don't do it again."

The strange boy strode off and through the barrier with his trunk, leaving Molly Weasley standing there, surrounded by her children, dumbfounded. Something that did not happen very often.

"Mum, Ron stole Mr. Snuffles…"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Hush." she snapped, still staring off at the barrier.

She should probably get her children loaded on the train. Goodness, what had she been thinking, leaving them off until the last minute, Merlin knew Ron always took about twenty to get clean and settled…

"Come on, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George. Let's get you lot seated."

"But Mum, I'M Fred."

"No, you're George."

"I am? I could have sworn I was Fred…"

By the time everyone was seated, the memory of the black-haired boy was only a wisp. And then it was gone.

oOXOo

Harry found an empty compartment and buried himself in his Potions and Herbology books. He hadn't realized it before, but they were just as deadly as they were fascinating. One drop of the wrong ingredient… he shuddered to think of the results. IF the potion brewing survived without an explosion, the results could be deadly, as well as completely different from the original's intended effects.

He had just finished reading about Ivan the Idiot and the fantastic cauldron explosion he created that took out half a country, when the door slammed open. It was the redheaded boy from before.

"'Lo? Is Harry Potter here?"

Harry mentally groaned and buried himself in his potions text once more. Hopefully the glamour on his scar and eyes would hold a bit longer, unlike the previous ones. He needn't have worried though, because the redhead rushed onto the next compartment as soon as he saw Harry's Potions book. He could hear the nitwit blundering about in the next compartment, where he was abruptly hexed by an irate 7th year. He snorted and reapplied his glamour. With any luck, it ought to hold until he reached Hogwarts.

oOXOo

Five minutes later, the door slid open once more, this time revealing a platinum blond boy standing there with his nose firmly stuck up in the air. Harry snickered. He probably had no idea how ridiculous he looked like that…

"Is something the matter?" his voice completed the picture of a stuck-up snob so perfectly that Harry was obliged to snicker again. The two trolls on his either side grumbled menacingly. Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly, hoping the blond would take the hint and disappear. No such luck. He plopped himself down on the adjacent seat and his bodyguards made themselves comfortable. Harry buried himself in his Potions books again.

"So."

Harry chose to ignore the obviously wealthy blonde.

"Are you interested in Hogwarts?"

Harry let out an exaggerated sigh and closed his Potions book. He was unlikely to get any reading done, anyway.

"Obviously. I am here, am I not?" The blonde blinked. A slow smile spread across his face.

"I like you. My name's Draco Malfoy." He held his hand out to shake.

"Henry." Harry said, making no move to shake his hand. He may as well use the formal version of his name.

The door slammed open for a third time, and Harry glanced at it, annoyed. This time it was a bushy haired girl who would be quite pretty if she hadn't had such large front teeth. Harry had seen her before, somewhere. Maybe in Diagon Alley? She was followed by a timid looking boy who was nervously wringing the hem of his shirt.

"Neville here lost his toad. D'you know if you saw it somewhere?"

Draco began "Go away Mud-" but Harry cut him off with a kick to the ankle. "Try a 7th year, or a prefect. They should be able to summon it."

"Thanks!" They ran off. Moments later, a toad whizzed past them in the direction they had just gone. It looked the picture of absolute misery. Harry snorted again.

"What did you do that for?" the blonde-Malfoy- whined, rubbing his ankle.

"To get you to shut up. You never know when a favor might come in handy."

Harry turned back to his textbooks. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with an offended, whiny, stuck-up brat of a kid.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, with Malfoy sitting quietly in his seat, nursing his wounded pride and his ankle. Harry finished both Potions and Herbology and had gone on to Transfiguration, when the train screeched to a halt. They had arrived.

* * *

A/N: I apologize to my faithful readers for taking so long. I had some writer's block, then I got bitten by a rabid plotbunny (The Butterfly Effect) but this chappie is FINALLY out! :)


	11. And Tonight, Hat a la Mode

"talking"

_thinking_

_'Sorting Hat in head'_

**_'Sorting Hat out loud'_**

A/N: I apologize for making you wait; hopefully the larger chapter makes it up. Also, I have posted a chapter that I mysteriously forgot about before. It ought to be number 4 now. All the other chapters have been bumped up one.

ALSO I HAVE LOST THE GRINGROTTS CHAPTER, WHERE HARRY FINRST GOES TO DIAGON! IF YOU HAVE IT COPIED SOMEWHERE, PLEASE PM ME!

* * *

Harry stared out the window, entranced, at the large light-filled castle that he was to inhabit for the next seven years. The others 'oohed' and 'aahed', but he felt the raw magic swirling around him and humming in his very bones. And so, while the others began to fuss about their bags, he continued to stare.

He had never felt anything like this before. Even Diagon Alley, with its bright shops, or Knockturn in all its shadowy glory failed to measure up. This was neither Light nor Dark. This was raw _magic_, pure and simple. It sang in his blood, and as he watched the castle in the distance, he thought he heard a voice.

"Welcome home."

oOXOo

The boats swung precariously to a stop, gently bobbing in the shallow water by the gravelly bank.

"All out!"

The children piled out of the boats excitedly.

"Where's my toad?"

The sandy haired plump boy Harry had met on the train was frantically searching his boat. Harry watched disinterestedly, bending over to pick up said greenish amphibian currently trying to make a break for freedom over the tops of Harry's shoes. The toad glared at him crossly, as if annoyed at him for having foiled his escape. Harry ignored it, instead calling out to the boy.

"This is your toad, right?"

The boy- Neville?- dashed over to him in relief.

"Yes, it is. Thanks!"

Harry eyed him critically.

"You should keep a better eye on him. Or buy a new one. Whichever. This one's dead set on freedom."

As if proving his point, the toad wriggled feebly in his grasp. Neville took the toad tenderly.

"Thank you so much!"

The big double doors opened, and the strict-looking woman who had visited 4 Privet Drive emerged, shutting the door firmly behind her. Introducing herself as McGonagall, she gazed imperiously at them, probably, Harry noted, singling out the scruffy looking individuals and future troublemakers. He met her gaze squarely, and saw something akin to respect in her gaze before it shifted onto the bushy-haired girl next to him. Sure enough, she barked out a few "Fix your hair!" s and a "Wipe the smudge off your nose." to the rude redhead from the train. He promptly flushed bright red.

She then began a speech on the four Houses of Hogwarts and their history. The redhead began loudly proclaiming that all Slytherins were evil slimy gits who were dark wizards. Harry felt Draco tense in the crowd next to him, and he decided to shut the redhead up before he started any fights. He met the redhead's gaze, holding it until he began to shift nervously. He got the hint and shut up, choosing instead to discuss animatedly how he thought they had to fight a troll. Harry ignored him. There were some people who were gullible, and some who were just plain stupid. Obviously he was the latter. Either way, it wasn't worth wasting his breath.

McGonagall wound up her long speech and flung open the great doors, sending a shockwave of bright lights, sounds, and color rushing over them. Harry blinked in the sudden bright light, his eyes watering. And then his vision cleared and he could see the whole Hall.

"Merlin…"

Apparently he wasn't the only one impressed by the glory of Hogwarts, because he could hear similar sounds of awe from around him. Even those who had visited Hogwarts before watched in awe as they entered a completely different world from what they had seen before. Hogwarts was _beautiful_.

_And it's all mine…_

oOXOo

Snape gritted his teeth, his hands pressed firmly over his ears. How he hated the first day of school. He hated children. But most of all, he hated the infernal uproar that inevitably came with the arrival of the Opening Feast. Even with a sound-dampening ward and his hands pressed over his ears, a roar of sounds still assaulted him. It didn't help that his heightened senses were hypersensitive from months of silence during the hols. No, he well and truly hated the first day of school. Were the brats simply not able to understand the charm of silence?

He scanned the crowd of increasingly-smaller first-years. This was the year James Potter's son would be eleven. It was also the beginning year of Albus' ridiculous 'train the hero' program. Frankly, Severus thought the plan was pure idiocy. Bring the Philosopher's Stone into Hogwarts? The Mirror of Erised? Several large and potentially deadly magical creatures? Lure a Dark Lord onto school premises? Albus was certainly barmy enough for it to work.

Severus had an advantage, though. No one knew of his little, ahem, secret, as it was. Even with that meddling life-debt to Lily forcing him to teach, he would not toddle along neatly without a fight. That man needed to remember he was a personage to be feared. _Feared._

He spotted emerald Avada Kedavra eyes- Lily's eyes- and a shock of black hair. Lovely. Perfect Potter mixed with Lily. Potter's spawn had arrived. He caught his eye, intent on seeing what lay behind that innocent façade. He dove into the brat's mind-

And was promptly forced out again.

There were shields, very strong shields in the boy's mind. Much too strong to be natural. He stared at the brat with a new calculating glint in his eyes. What was the boy hiding?

_There!_

A ghost of a dark smirk- but then it was gone. Severus pressed on. He knew what he had seen. The brat was also strangely familiar…

Lost in his thoughts and careful observation, he failed to notice McGonagall slipping off to retrieve the Sorting Hat. He did, however, notice her carry it back and place it on a stool. A hush broke out. The Sorting began.

oOXOo

"Potter, Harry!"

The emerald-eyed boy he had been watching strode forward confidently, not a hint of any nervousness showing. _Interesting…_ The hat he placed on his head, sitting neatly upon the stool provided. Severus wished he could hear the discussion, they were almost over, probably- _But what if… that's it! Legilimens!_

The boy's shields would be down now, to be sorted. It was not known to many, but the Sorting Hat used a milder form of Legilimency to scan the newcoming student's personality and surface thoughts briefly, effectively 'sorting' the person's personality. Occlumens could not be sorted until they lowered their shields, due to the Hat's nature.

The hat could not have legilimens cast on it, due to a number of spells the founders cast on it in case of just that situation, and was not able to give up any information on the Sorted to anyone, including the Headmaster. However, the Sorted… would have their barriers down.

If he was able to evade both the boy and the Hat's notice, then he would be able to listen in on their conversation secretly. He wouldn't be able to delve too deeply though, just listen in on the two. Any farther, and there would be the inherent possibility that he could be discovered. However, that was all he needed.

'_-re you sure? Slytherin would do you well.'_

_Yes, I am quite sure. If you place me in Slytherin, I shall set you on fire and let you burn to cinders._

'_No need for violence, but this simply proves my point. You belong in __**S-**__'_

_Fire._

Severus found his mind surrounded by flames, hungrily licking at his mental probe. Pain spasmed through his body. He withdrew hastily, shaking the visions of flames from his eyes to emerge to a scene of chaos.

The Sorting Hat was on fire with a bluish fire; it was still on Potter's head. Potter climbed off the stool calmly and placed the Hat back onto the stool just as calmly. It continued to burn merrily. The fire crackled at McGonagall angrily when she attempted to put it out with a jet of water from her wand, refusing to go out.

The Great Hall was in pandemonium, with students running everywhere and the Houses in general uproar. Potter, Snape observed, was still standing calmly before the Sorting Hat, ignoring all demands from McGonagall that he stop this nonsense at once, simply smiling innocently. Severus didn't mistake that look in his eyes. A memory from the conversation flashed across his mind.

_Yes, I am quite sure. If you place me in Slytherin, I shall set you on fire and let you burn to cinders._

'_No need for violence, but this simply proves my point. You belong in __**S-**__'_

_Fire._

He was quite sure Potter had caused this chaos. And he was equally sure that Potter knew he could not tell what he knew without revealing his less-than-legal venture. Severus knew when someone had him backed up in a corner. And so, with a hiss of frustrated breath, he added his magic to the member's of the staff's, in what he knew was probably a most futile attempt. Potter would pay.

oOXOo

Harry smiled happily as he watched the Hat burn. He hadn't very much liked the Hat. He had been quite adamant that he be sorted into Gryffindor, as Hogwarts, A History had shown him that it was the most likely for Dumbledore to expect him to go into.

He had read quite a few books detailing the feats of the Boy-Who-Lived, and he also knew quite well that he was rather far off from their expectations. It wouldn't do for the Boy-Who-Lived to be a slimy Slytherin, now would it?

He had also read quite a few books on Dumbledore, himself, and began to see a pattern emerge. Those who opposed him generally found themselves in an early grave, denounced as 'dark' and cast into prison, or 'mysteriously' disappeared. Oh, the man truly believed in what he was doing, yes. But he hated the Dark and everything in it, and from what Harry had read, he most thoroughly qualified as 'dark'. Or at least, he intended to reform the Wizarding World. What he had seen of it was corrupt, weak, the 'darkness' a mere semblance of what it should be according to the books. He could feel it too, like there was something missing, an echoing silence. Magic was half as strong, if not worse in those born to the new generation.

The wizarding world was sick, dying. Magic was dying, with the abandonment of ancient rituals denounced as 'dark' and the introducement of those ridiculous magical parodies of muggle science and technology. The culture was damn near gone, the new advancements nonexistent. The Wizarding World was stagnant, and Harry intended to fix that.

He scanned the staff table. The Hat was now screaming '_**GRYFFINDOR!**_' at the top of its lungs to whomever might listen. Nobody was. The big giant-like man who had brought them in the boats was sitting petrified, his glace darting from Dumbledore, to McGonagall, obviously waiting for them to act.

Dumbledore was sweating, as was a midget teacher whose name Harry had yet to learn and the strange dark man who had tried to see into Harry's mind before. All three were most likely trying to put out the fire Harry had lit, from the magical backwash he could feel. They were _strong_, the dark man and Dumbledore most of all. The old magic had not left them.

He continued scanning the staff silently, noting reactions. Most were reacting as predicted, with lots of panicking, shouting, and waves of magic. The one teacher with the big turban was odd, though. He was watching the proceedings just as calmly as Harry was, obviously not fazed by the lack of improvement. And Harry couldn't feel him doing anything at all. He was just sitting there, watching Harry calmly in amusement. Harry had no doubt the strange turban-man knew what he had done.

As he watched, the strange teacher tilted his head slightly, acknowledging his magic. When he looked up again, Harry met his eyes-

And they were crimson, burning blood red. Harry caught his stare and held it evenly. Something stirred in the depths of those eyes, but disappeared as soon as he saw it. A wave of strange magic- _dark magic_ washed over Harry, and he reeled in its passing. It was stronger than Dumbledore's piddly attempts, _much_ stronger, and awash in that strange feeling that he had felt in the apocathery in Knockturn. This, this was true darkness. He reveled in the feeling.

The fire went out. It went out suddenly, without a hint of it ever having been there. There were no embers. There were no smoldering patches of Hat. There were no ashes. It was simply and suddenly _not there_- with no evidence that it had ever existed. Harry thought he saw a spark of amusement in the crimson eyes before they melted away back into ordinary brown. The Hat screamed one last _**'GRYFFINDOR!'**_ in the ensuing silence, and then slumped over and fell to the ground, utterly spent.

The Hall was quiet. Then the red-and-gold table began to clap, quietly at first, hesitantly, then gaining power and momentum. The other tables began to clap also, until the Hall was ringing with applause. Harry walked quickly to the table and sat down.

The rest of the Feast went quickly, as the Hat was too tired to do anything, and the rest of the first-years were to be Sorted the next morning, after the Hat could sufficiently recover. But unlike the cheerful and boisterous students, there were two who were withdrawn and thoughtful. One, thinking of a young green-eyed boy, and the other, of a pair of flashing crimson eyes.


	12. Deep Thoughts

A/N: I have rewritten the Gringrotts chapter as best I can. It is now up! :P I updated!  


* * *

Alone in his office, Dumbledore frowned. He was not oblivious, no matter what the staff said, and that little display of power during the sorting was highly disturbing. The boy had much more magic than he had bargained for, much too much.

Even more so that it had been Harry, as the blatant disrespect for authority was disturbing… Other, less well-known students might have been disposed of quietly, but Harry was far too influential and famous a figure for his disappearance to go unnoticed. If he tried to pass it off as more of the Dark's work, it would no doubt backfire and cast Dumbledore and his plans in a far more sinister way than he cared to chance.

For the Light to triumph as it should, crushing the Dark underfoot, and spreading peace, he would need every bit of political power in the upcoming struggle. Still, the boy would cause a chaos that he had no time for, and if this continued, he would sadly have to be dealt with. He must be kept in check for the final victory to succeed. It was all for the Greater Good of the people.

If Voldemort was allowed to continue, he would expose and doom all wizard-kind, not to mention probably murder them himself. He would wipe them out. It would be a hard road to walk, though, and a thankless one. Dumbledore didn't wish the boy harm. He was actually quite fond of the boy, as fond as one could become after only meeting the boy for the first few months of his life. He wished he didn't have to suspect him, but he must, unless…

Unless it had been accidental magic. Yes, yes, that could be it. The poor boy, terrified at the Hat's decision to Sort him into Slytherin, had accidentally lit it on fire, then yanking it off, and staring at it, petrified. It would certainly explain why Minerva, Filius, Severus, and he were unable to put it out. Accidental magic worked in a different way than normal magic.

Dumbledore allowed himself to smile gently. If this was truly what had happened, then it would be quite heartening to hear young Harry chose Gryffindor, quite heartening indeed. The war-torn wizarding world needed such courage and pluck. He must be very powerful, very powerful indeed to merit such strong accidental magic. He would need every ounce of that magic in his fight. But that would require that particular event to, in fact, be the preferred outcome. He must tread carefully to avoid disaster.

Dumbledore sighed and popped a lemon drop in his mouth, spinning around in his plush office chair. The portraits frowned, but he ignored them, plotting his next move. He would order young Harry's every step be watched. Perhaps he should call in Severus' life-debt. Or not. He could need that particular fact later. He sighed again, popping in another calming-draught-laced lemon drop, and then another, and another. A headmaster's work was never done…

oOXOo

Shadows ensconced Hogwarts, twining their way through the darkened corridors. Hogwarts was, and always had been, a place of innate balance. Even after the departure of the shadowed one back in her childhood, no matter how they tried with their bright lights and torches, darkness lurked around every corner.

The founders had made her as dark as she was bright, horrifying as it was beautiful. Nothing they tried would rid them. The rules were set. The day would belong to the wizards, and those of light. The night would go to the creatures, and those few wizards brave and powerful enough to chance the shadows, those of dark. There was always a balance. Granted, at some times it tipped in favor of one side, and at times, the other, but it was a precarious balance and was seldom fully in favor of one, never permanently, nor was it damaging to the other when it did.

Albus Dumbledore had disturbed this delicate balance. He was a powerful wizard, as of those of old. He had attempted to seal the shadows of the school- and had succeeded in part, hiding them in the background as he brought light and trivial magic tricks to the forefront, hiding Hogwarts' true nature. He had killed a Lord of the Dark, had arranged to kill another, and now sought to sway the balance even further. He would regret his actions.


	13. Secondhand Hero

Harry hurried down the echoing stone hallways, pausing only to check the complicated map that a directionally-challenged Gyffindor prefect had messily scribbled on a spare sheet of parchment for him. He was due to be in Transfiguration any minute now, and it would not be his fault if the prefect woke up one day to a nasty surprise. Or maybe not wake up, but that would awaken suspicion that he could not afford, especially if that senile Headmaster began poking his nose around the school. After a few minutes' wandering, he finally gave up and determinedly went in the opposite way that the map told him, tossing the scrap of parchment behind him as he ran. Surprisingly enough, the class was only three hallways and a door down from where he had been lost.

_No thanks to that idiot prefect…Damn map._

He pushed open the door and walked into the classroom, barely sliding into his seat as the bell rang. He surreptiously glanced around the classroom at his year-mates, noticing that the teacher had yet to arrive. A tabby cat lazily sat on the desk at the front of the room, seemingly asleep. Harry mentally shrugged, pulling out a book on alchemy that he had 'borrowed' from the restricted section earlier that day. Not his fault if the teacher couldn't be bothered to show up. He idly flipped through the book, studying the detailed diagrams and arithmancy figures. He couldn't understand half of them, but figures be d-mned, the book was fascinating.

Several minutes later, the door clanged open, revealing the pale face of Draco. He strode in with his gang of Slytherin friends, sniggering loudly over the incompetence of the teacher and their own personal luck at not being called out on their lateness. Harry absentmindedly tuned them out, turning a page in his book.

_Idiots. Wish they'd shut up so I could read in peace._

There were several loud shrieks from the front of the room, and Harry glanced up quickly, his wand sliding neatly into his hand under his desk. He was just in time to see the tabby cat jump neatly to the floor and turn back into the stern-faced woman who had visited him at the Dursleys. Draco now had three angry red lines streaking across his face, and blood was slowly oozing its way down his cheek. He looked shocked and about to cry at the damage to his otherwise elegant features. Harry watched McGonagall in hidden fascination. How had she managed to turn into a cat? Then he blanched, remembering the tabby cat that had been skulking around 4 Privet Drive that afternoon. Dumbledore. There was no other explanation, the Headmaster had to have been keeping watch on him. He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary that day but…

_If he watched me that day, he was watching me before. But when?_

He was jolted out of his panicked thoughts and assumed his emotionless mask as Draco rudely pushed past him and sat, one hand trying to stop the bleeding. McGonagall had finished lecturing the Slytherins, and now she turned to the board and began to rapidly talk and scribble details. Harry ignored her for the most part- he had already read the introduction to Transfiguration, as well as the entire rest of the book. He turned instead to Draco, lightly tracing the scratches with his wand and muttering a healing spell under his breath. The scratches faded, leaving unmarked skin and a slight trickle of dried blood. Draco stared at him wide-eyed, no doubt amazed by the simple magic.

"Is there anything you would like to share with the rest of us, Mr. Potter? Do tell why healing Mr. Malfoy is more important to you than class."

Harry gazed downward, immediately slipping into an apologetic mask. "I-I'm sorry, Professor, but he's hurt, and if I can do anything to help I can't… just… sit there…" He appeared to almost shrink under the stares from around the room.

Her face was stern, but approval flashed in her eyes. "Be that as it may Mr. Potter, please refrain from further inattention. You will find that your grades will suffer from it. However… 20 points to Gryffindor for your chivalry."

Harry pretended to be amazed and hopeful. The Gryffindors erupted in applause.

"Now, now, settle down."

All attention turned to McGonagall once more, and the lesson continued once more.


	14. Suspicions of Greatness

Snape frowned suspiciously as the first-years filed silently into their seats, most cowed by the intimidating personage of the infamous Potions Master and the rest scared witless by the various pickled limbs of unknown hellish creatures that surrounded them in neat, sealed glass jars. The only ones unaffected were Potter and Weasley, the latter of whom was in all probability too foolish to even notice the threatening atmosphere that hung around the room.

Potter, however… Potter didn't turn a hair. That archaic feeling still hung around him. It was strangely familiar, and yet at the same time somehow- not. Severus ached to wrench the unseen smugness right out of the brat's head with a well-placed _Legilimens_. He knew he was being foolish, that if the child was truly so powerful, he would notice and invariably act upon his presence in his mind. He knew he couldn't, the boy knew it too, and the combined facts were slowly driving him insane with frustration. He settled for the next-best thing.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" he snapped, daring the boy not to answer silently with his eyes.

"The draught of living death, sir." his voice was soft, yet experienced, further pissing the heck out of Severus.

"Where would I find a bezoar?"

"There is one in all elementary Potions kits, and quite possibly a few in the storage cabinet. In the wild, a bezoar will form in the stomach of a goat."

"What would I get if I added knotgrass to powdered newt scale?"

"A large explosion, sir, if silverweed is not added to neutralize the reactants."

Snape hid his surprise at the brat's competence. That particular tidbit had come from a fourth-year book. The boy grew more intriguing by the minute. Certainly not anything like James Potter. He would bear watching. Severus hated his inability to understand the boy, read him as he did the others. Ignorance was danger. He had not survived until now by being ignorant. He would not begin the habit now.


	15. Charmed

A/N: Writer's block is annoying. So is being buried in homework. I know you all probably want me to shut up and let you read. So I shall stop prattling on now. :P  


* * *

Harry inwardly sighed of boredom. Around him, the various other Gryffindors were frantically trying to make their individual feathers float. Only one other had succeeded so far, a bookish girl by the name of Hermione Granger. She had the unfortunate luck of being born with extremely frizzy hair and a large pair of front teeth that made her rather closely resemble an oversized beaver. Indeed, most of the boys had already began calling her as such. It irritated Harry. What right had they to criticize her when they couldn't perform the simplest of spells?

"Mr. Potter?"

Papers were beginning to flap in the breeze created by his angry magic. Harry quickly composed himself.

"Yes sir?"

"Kindly perform the levitation charm." Professor Flitwick's eyes were sharp as they observed him. He would be another worth watching. Harry flicked his wand sharply, silently asking the magic around him to help.

"_**Wingardium Leviosa!**_"

The feather shot up, hovering in the air directly below the ceiling. Harry had a feeling it would have gone higher, but realized it couldn't shoot through solid stone. Flitwick applauded.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter! 10 points to Gryffindor casting the levitation charm successfully. Your mother was quite the charms master in her day, I might add."

Harry, who had been pretending to pay attention jerked towards Flitwick at this, his eyes wide.

"You knew my mother? Was she like us? I mean…"

Flitwick nodded. "She was a prodigy, that girl, the center of attention because of her flaming red hair and emerald eyes. She was fiery, but was as loyal as they come. You inherited her eyes. If you would like, I could get some photographs together and you could pick them up after classes."

Harry nodded emphatically, his eyes sparkling. "Thank you, professor."

"I'll be expecting you, then." The tiny professor turned his wand on himself, then muttered "_**Sonorus.**_ **CLASS DISMISSED!**"

Harry quickly packed up his supplies, his mind racing. His mother had attended Hogwarts. Had his father? Had they known? Why had they left him at the Dursleys?


	16. Ally or Enemy?

Harry trotted along the hallway, his arms full of a box of pictures and his parents' things, his mind whirling with what he had learned. His parents had loved him. Heck, they had died defending him.

He pulled a picture out of his pocket and studied it. The girl with fire red hair- Lily- waved at Harry cheerily while a pale boy with inky black hair and eyes that he didn't quite recognize quirked his lips in a half-smile. He seemed familiar, somehow.

"Harry, my boy!"

Harry barely refrained from snapping that he was no one's boy.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

He slipped the picture back into his pocket, shielding his movements with the box of photos. Dumbledore twinkled at him over his half-moon glasses. Harry felt a flutter brush by his mind. He instantly brought the best fake-Harry mind he could summon up. Harry was glad he had taken the time and funds to discreetly buy and memorize several Occlumency and Legilimency volumes from Knockturn. It hadn't really seemed worth it at the time, but one seemed to require extraordinary Occlumency shields to protect one's secrets on a daily basis at Hogwarts. Dumbledore smiled genially at him, obviously pleased with what he had 'discovered', and Harry felt the mental probe withdraw.

"May I ask what you are doing, out at such a late hour?"

"Professor Flitwick had some of my parents' things, and he agreed to give them to me, sir." Harry replied, far more politely than he wanted to be.

An understanding light dawned in the Headmaster's eyes.

"Quite understandable, Harry."

A glint of light caught Harry's eye, and for the first time, he noticed a small glass globe hooked on a chain to Dumbledore's gaudy robes. A very _familiar_ globe. His eyes widened.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore looked at him expectantly.

Harry pointed. "What's that?" The direct, innocent approach would probably work best.

Dumbledore twinkled some more. "That, my boy, is an extremely dangerous and dark artifact I happened to find selling at a pawn shop, in London, oh, four years ago."

Harry mentally snarled in utter _fury_. The Dursleys had no _right_! Absolutely _no right_ to sell his glow! It was _his_! Not the Dursley's, not Albus bloody Dumbledore's! _His!_

His eyes began to glow in fury before he slammed his emotions behind his Occlumency barrier. They raged to get out and _slaughter_ Albus bloody Dumbledore and anyone else who ever got in his way again. He shoved them away. The Headmaster waited, seemingly unaware of his narrow brush with Death.

"It's sparkly!" Harry stated, with pretended childish awe.

It had the desired effect. The Headmaster laughed.

"That it is, Harry, that it is. You'd better head on back to your dormitory now. You wouldn't want to wander into the third floor corridor that's off limits, now, would you?"

Harry felt the compulsion charm hit him as he shook his head and Dumbledore walked off. He ignored it, and it slid harmlessly of his Occlumency barriers. Harry watched Dumbledore's back retreat.

"You will pay, Dumbledore." he whispered. "I will reclaim what is rightly mine."

oOoOoOo

In a nearby rat-sized nook in the grey stone of Hogwarts, a certain rat animagus watched the encounter silently. Unlike the aged Headmaster, Pettigrew saw the eerie glow of those emerald eyes, the momentary flare of angry magic before it was surpressed. He shivered at the quiet vow. Peter had no doubt it would be carried out. The boy obviously wanted something the Headmaster had unwittingly taken. Probably that crystal globe, judging by his question about it earlier. Pettigrew felt the ancient Dark magic radiating off the innocent little pendant. The Dark Lord would wish to know of this latest development. Perhaps they could use the pendant to _persuade_ the boy to join their forces?

An uneasy thought struck him. The boy's name was Harry. Harry… Potter? No, it couldn't be. The boy-who-lived couldn't possess that chilling aura, wouldn't want anything to do with something even remotely dark. Reassured, the rat scurried away through a wandering maze of rat-tunnels to the DADA classroom. The Dark Lord was awaiting his report. Pettigrew would not be the one to fail him.

oOoOoOo

Quirrel finished grading the last essay, slapping it onto a pile of the rest. He ignored his throbbing head and paused a second to neaten the stack, seemingly unaware of the large brown rat that had slipped into the room. He had expected something to have happened, and would have been sorely disappointed if either his premonition or Pettigrew had proved him false.

Pettigrew waited. His patience was rewarded.

"Report." Quirrel said calmly, without a hint of his usual stutter, discretely flicking his hand. A slew of privacy wards sprung up instantly.

The rat's nose twitched, and it rose on its hind legs, studying the new protections with its beady eyes before appearing to swell. A moment later, a short, balding man with shifty eyes stood in its place, nervously fidgeting. He bowed deeply to Quirrel.

"My Lord."

Quirrel waved a hand at him to continue, turning his attention back to the pile of ungraded essays. Pettigrew swallowed anxiously, taking the wave as encouragement.

"I-I have determined a potential recruit, my Lord. A boy, with black hair and bright green eyes. Dumbledore seems to have finally taken on more than he can handle- he has stolen a powerful Dark object, my Lord- a-and the boy wants it back very badly. I propose we acquire this artifact and, ah, _persuade_ the boy to join us with it. He is- very, very powerful, my Lord. And cunning enough for Slytherin. He completely distracted Dumbledore as he fished for information. He holds a deep grudge against the man, as well."

Quirrel absentmindedly marked a Troll on a particularly abysmal paper.

"What is his name?"

"H-Harry, my Lord."

Quirrel looked up sharply.

"Harry Potter?" he questioned, mud brown eyes bleeding into crimson as he let his glamour slip.

Pettigrew tried not to cower under the impassive gaze of ruby eyes.

"N-No, my Lord. I d-doubt Potter would possess such p-powerful D-Dark magic, or even b-b-be remotely interested in-in such a D-Dark object." he stammered.

Voldemort dismissed him coolly. "Your job is not to think, Pettigrew."

Pettigrew shrank in on himself. "Y-Yes, m-my Lord."

"What is the object he is seeking?"

"A clear glass globe, about an inch or so in diameter, my Lord. Held on a thin silver chain by a ring that appears to have been set in molten silver that was dripped over the globe and cooled. There are patterns engraved in it, but I was unable to determine their shape and possible origin. It radiates darkness- true Darkness, my Lord." Pettigrew reeled off, somewhat relieved now that the Dark Lord had turned away once more and those uncanny red eyes were not watching him any more.

"Dismissed. Continue with your previous duties until otherwise instructed."

Pettigrew nodded, once, before fluidly shrinking away into a large grey rat once more. He promptly scurried off.

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, considering his next move. He was no fool- unless Pettigrew had heard wrong, 'Harry' was Harry Potter. There simply were no other Harrys that matched his description currently attending Hogwarts. Which begged the question- what, exactly, did Potter think he was doing? He was the bloody hero of the Light. What would he want with a powerful Dark artifact? And the comment about his magic was troubling as well.

Voldemort abruptly stood up, slamming his hands onto his desk. Crimson turned mud brown once more. Quirrel smirked. First, he would acquire the globe. Then, perhaps… plan something for Halloween? He deserved a bit of a treat, after all. And the Wizarding World needed something to keep them from getting complacent.

* * *

A/N: Yay! I went on a writing splurge this weekend; apparently it was very inspiring. ANYWAY, I now have enough material to keep this going for a bit without writing anything further. (Though, I probably will still continue.) UNFORTUNATELY, standardized testing is next week. Typing may be limited because of my brain-dead status. :P Gain some, lose some.

-K.R.B.


	17. In Which Something Finally Happens

A/N: Note, if you're confused, I use "Quirrell" whenever Voldie is hiding in his Quirrell disguise (ie: brown eyes, stutter) and "Voldemort" when referring to obviously possessed Quirrell. (ie: red eyes, no stutter) This chapter is all from Quirrell's POV!

* * *

Quirrell smiled modestly at Dumbledore.

"I- I am ra-rather p-p-proficient in-in the d-destruction of d-d-dark art-artifacts, and I n-noticed that pendant you wear is a very p-powerful one, indeed. P-perhaps you w-would permit m-me to d-dispose of it?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly. "Of course, Quirinus. In fact, I was just looking for someone who could accomplish that exact deed recently. It would be my pleasure to let you try. The blasted thing resists all my attempts at destroying it. I swear, it almost seems to laugh at me, too…"

He handed the globe over to Quirrell, who picked it up with a protective-spelled worm silk cloth and slipped it into a dragon-hide pouch to observe later. He made his excuses, and was soon on his way to the deep reaches of the Forbidden Forest. He had a troll to catch, two actually. Though the Headmaster didn't know about the second. Not that the old coot ever needed to know.

oOoOoOo

Quirrell felt, rather than heard, the rustle of bushes behind him. He spun around, his wand aimed at whatever had dared disturb his hunt. He found himself crossing wands with a very startled, pale Severus Snape, swathed in billowing robes of black. They gave the impression of a very large bat's outstretched wings. He lowered his wand, albeit reluctantly.

"Oh, S-severus! H-how unexpected!"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Who are you, and what have you done with Quirrell?"

Quirrell was the picture of stuttering innocence.

"Wh-whatever are y-you t-talking ab-bout S-severus?"

Snape continued to steadily aim his wand at Quirrell.

"What are you doing in the Forbidden Forest?"

Mud brown eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance. "I c-could ask the s-same of y-y-you, S-severus. _I_ am h-here b-because th-the H-Headmaster r-requests a t-t-troll for th-the d-defences of the st-stone."

Snape slowly lowered his wand, remaining tense, as if he expected an attack at any time. He glared at Quirrell, engaging in a fierce mental struggle before breaking away sharply. His obsidian eyes challenged Quirrell.

"Do not even _think_ of attempting something, Quirinus."

Quirrell allowed himself a small amount of mirth as he stared back at Snape levelly.

"I would never _dream_ of it, Severus." he said smoothly, without a hint of a stutter.

Snape jerked back as if stung, giving off a mindless cry of rage and stalking off into the brush as Quirrell's eyes mocked him. Quirrell smirked.

oOoOoOo

Quirrell jolted upright in the middle of the night, hissing in pain. When he put a hand to his head, it came away bloody. The pain seemed to come from a… thread, per se, of magic. It led away through a wall to somewhere, probably in Hogwarts. He observed it for a few seconds as it pulsed the eerie green of the Killing Curse. Well. That was… curious, to say the least.

He mentally prodded the link, and immediately was overwhelmed by a flood of images- a boy, leaning on a cold stone floor, the wreckage of a classroom, but mostly rather gory images of Dumbledore dying in several, rather gruesome, inventive ways. Raging emotions and a flood of raw _magic_ poured down the link, fizzing in his blood and immediately filling his depleted magic that was resting from his troll-hunting session. With the magic came pain, and pure _fury_. He could feel his eyes burning crimson and glowing murderously in the wreckage of his room.

Voldemort clutched his wand until his knuckles turned white. Several objects in his room simultaneously combusted as his angry magic rampaged. A bright glow from the sealed leather pouch on his table lit up the room in a supernatural green. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Voldemort opened the pouch that contained the pendant that had stubbornly resisted all his magic.

Immediately, a ray of brilliant emerald shone out of the opening, making his eyes lid with the intensity of the beam. The pain and emotions tripled. The pendant's globe was _glowing_, a blinding emerald light the color of Avada Kedavra. It throbbed in time with the furious magic and unearthly rage he felt.

Voldemort slammed his Occlumency barriers up, throwing as much power as he could spare into blocking every scrap of whatever that bond was. He stood in the middle of his ruined room, breathing heavily as the unnatural anger disappeared and his eyes darkened into brown again. He surveyed the damage grimly. All his important things had been stored elsewhere, a relief. Anything the destructive magic had touched… was beyond repair. Textbooks lay about, now little more than charred piles of ash. Little wisps of the magic still danced about, dissipating as the unearthly fury that had fed them was blocked.

Quirrell's door slammed open, and Dumbledore charged in, closely followed by McGonagall. The lights flicked on, illuminating the ruins of his room and Quirrell himself, still clutching the pouch, blood dripping down his head.

"Quirinus!"

Quirrell half-turned, then sagged, Voldemort exhausted by the magic he had spent blocking the link and barely able to supply the truly crushing amount of magic needed to carry on the active possession of Quirrell's body. Minerva caught him as he staggered, and lowered him gently to the ground. She flicked her wand, and he hazily felt the blood covering him disappear.

Dumbledore looked grave. "What caused this, Quirinus?"

Quirrell opened his mouth and choked, his throat as dry as sawdust. Minerva conjured a glass of water and he drank it gratefully.

"I-it w-w-was th-that p-pendant. Y-y-you kn-know wh-which one."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes dark.

Quirrell continued. "I w-was t-trying to re-remove th-the enchantment. It- it f-fought. V-very, very hard. I-I hadn't ex-expected it t-to…"

"Destroy all this." Dumbledore finished.

He eyed the pouch warily. "This has proved my own suspicions. It is far too dangerous to be left here, where children could be injured in a similar incident. I will take it, and make adequate preparations."

Quirrell opened the pouch. The green light was gone now, vanished, and in the light of their wands it looked… innocent. Harmless, even. Not at all like something that had just wrecked the contents of one of the most magically-secure rooms in Britain quite thoroughly.

"No. It is- sh-should be h-harmless now. I th-think I c-can c-completely d-destroy it-"

"Not now, you don't. You're wiped. The pendant will wait." Minerva butted in, crossing her arms firmly.

Dumbledore twinkled. "In that case, it's settled."

He turned to McGonagall. "You don't know, perchance, where Severus might be?"

Minerva jerked her head towards the patch of dark sky outside Quirrell's window. "Out. In the forest. He disappeared about dinner, remember?"

"Ah. True." Dumbledore replied absentmindedly. "How many more times is he going to need these special ingredients, anyway?"

He turned to Quirrell, his eyes growing stern once again. "You'll rest." It was an order, not a request. "I don't want to see you fiddling with that- _thing_ until Poppy says you're completely recovered. I may not be able to force you to the Hospital Wing, but I can and will prevent you from killing yourself of overwork."

Quirrell nodded weakly.

"You'll be fine?"

His mouth quirked.

"P-positive. I j-just need res-rest."

Dumbledore nodded. "All right. Move into the spare guest room- this room looks beyond help. I'll see you at breakfast."

He ducked out of the room, and Quirrell heard footsteps recede down the corridor. Minerva stayed a second later, critically examining him.

"Be careful." she said.

"I will."


	18. Halloween Mischief

Hermione was not an idiot. There was something off about professors Quirrell and Snape. Anyone with half a brain would see it.

Professor Snape stalked around like a bat, too much like a bat. He kept showing up in the most impossible places- usually just in time to catch a Gryffindor in some sort of perceived mischief. You couldn't apparate in Hogwarts, this she was sure of. Hogwarts, a History stated as much. And yet, Professor Snape seemed to defy the laws of magic (let alone the rules of physics) and magically be seen on the other side of the castle seconds after telling you off. Hermione had ruled out deception or holograms. It happened on a daily basis, and there was virtually nothing to be gained from it.

There was also the matter of his strange moods when he was snappier than usual and gave the impression that a dark cloud was hanging over the castle. His subsequent disappearances into the Forbidden Forest were also worrying. Hermione didn't know what he was doing there, but she was positive he was up to no good.

Quirrell… she didn't think anyone else had noticed it, but he seemed…tense. Anxious. She had seen him muttering to himself about a 'stone' before, without a hint of a stutter. He was hiding something. Something dangerous, maybe even so dangerous she could be killed right now for what she knew.

She had been content to leave the heroics to the Headmaster so far. Surely he had it under control, she reasoned. He had defeated Grindlewald single-handedly, after all, and he would never risk the lives of innocent children. Then Quirrell showed up at breakfast even more battered and unkempt than before, the day after a huge magical storm had brewed in the castle. And still, the Headmaster did nothing.

Hermione knew she couldn't wait anymore. Whatever it was had begun to affect the students. The Ravens and the Snakes were more wary and paranoid than ever, travelling in large groups and whispering nervously to their Housemates. Several fights had broken out between the more trigger-happy students. The Lions were as oblivious as ever. The 'Puffs blindly followed their example, but holed up in their commons for an unprecedented amount of time, only emerging for classes and meals. The whole school was balancing on a knife's blade of tension, waiting for just the right catalyst for a full-blown panic…

Hermione loved magic. True, she didn't always understand it, but she loved it just the same. She hated whatever it was that was tearing the school apart from the inside out. But what could she do? She was only a muggleborn first-year, with next to no knowledge of the magic that everyone seemed to use as if it were a part of their body. She stood no chance against a professor, and what chance had she of making the Headmaster listen to her suspicions?

She needed information, and the best place to search was a professor's office. It would be less heavily warded than a bedroom, but could still possibly contain some helpful information in the forms of reports or files. Which professor though? Snape would be sure to catch her. Quirrell was an unknown, but if he saw her, she was doomed. She slammed her fist angrily on the table in frustration, causing a group of nearby first-years to inch away from her slightly. Hermione ignored them, mind already spinning with possibilities. Her plan began to form. She would strike at the next big distraction. The Weasley twins would do nicely…

oOo

"Troll!"

Hermione shot out of her seat at the shout with many of the other students, who began screaming and running about. She ignored them, slipping through the chaos as the teachers began to try and calm the panicking mob of students. Fred and George had come through. Although, it wasn't really funny, compared to most of their pranks… No matter.

She slid through a handful of secret passages the twins had shown her, sticking to the shadows. Once or twice she froze as a sliver of noise reached her ears, but she always forced herself onward after a few seconds of deliberation. Finally, after an eternity of nerve-wracking sneaking, she disabled a few wards (pathetically few, in her opinion) and slid through a dark-stained oak door into her goal.

_Professor Quirrell's Office._

Hermione began searching in the filing cabinets, carefully replacing everything just as she found it. She went through a few drawers. Nothing. In desperation, she glanced over his desk- time was running out. The first drawer was empty, and she almost ignored the second, but her eyes caught on an oddly shaped leather pouch that stank of magic. She turned it upside down and shook it. A pendant that looked to be quite old fell out and bouncedc once on the tabletop before rolling to a stop. For a second, she hesitated. She was stealing from a professor. Her, Hermione Granger! Stealing! Then she ruthlessly quashed her conscience and stuck the pendent into a pocket, checking a watch before blanching and running out the door. She had spent too long searching. She had to get back to her common room, stat.

oOo

Severus scanned the hall with a practiced eye. Quirrell was obviously faking- had probably let the troll in himself, come to think of it.

He sneered, finishing his impromptu head count. So Potter decided he would challenge a full-grown mountain troll, now did he?

Severus would be tempted to just leave the idiot boy to his grisly fate- even _he_ would hesitate to take on a few of the better specimens of their race that had a festering grudge with him. He almost groaned as he felt an insistent tug on his magic that he was indeed bound to protect the brat from whatever mess he had wandered into this time. Pity. He had dearly hoped he would be able to postpone his meeting with the business end of a troll's club.

Muttering a few highly-inappropriate curses under his breath, he swept out the nearest side exit, passing unseen in the chaos. Soon he was little more than a black blur as he shot through the dungeons, expertly searching at an inhuman pace.

oOo

Harry was returning from the bathroom when he heard an ominous thud a short distance behind him.

"What on earth?" he muttered softly as he surveyed the impressive specimen of troll blocking his way, spiked club held menacingly above its head, poised to strike.

"Well, well. Now what might you be doing here, I wonder?"

oOo

The troll would have been excited, if its tiny troll brain could process such complicated data. He settled for lifting his club above its head threateningly, accidentally knocking aside a few Galleons' worth of flimsy blue bathroom stalls in the process. He had always enjoyed the noises when his food first spotted him. Of course, the more they struggled, the sweeter they tasted.

He grunted suddenly in confusion (an often occurrence in trolls). The food wasn't running. It wasn't even screaming! It was no fun if it didn't run!

The food pointed a stick at him. He blinked. What good would such a tiny stick do? Then a bright light flashed out of its arm and he was suddenly sick. Very sick. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong…

oOo

Severus sped down the deserted hallways, cursing his bad luck that Quirrell had chosen to acquaint himself with the forbidden third floor corridor _now_, of all times. Why had he lowered himself to even _think_ of taking this position? The pay was atrocious, and he hated the bloody brats. With a passion. And Dumbledore! That infernal meddling old coot! Ah yes, he had nearly forgotten. Bloody menace blackmailed him with his most well-kept secret. He would certainly enjoy Dumbledore's death, him and his pet seer's. Perhaps he could arrange something…

A loud crashing sound echoed through the hallway, breaking his train of thought. His eyes widened.

"Dammit." _It must have found a student…probably dead by now._

He took the corner at a ninety degree turn, nearly running into a soft object. He treated it with his fiercest glare.

"Mr… Potter. Explain. Now." He didn't have time for this, not now-

"I left the feast early to go to the bathroom-" The brat had the audacity to act as though butter would not melt in his mouth. "And I ran into a troll coming back, I swear!" he added earnestly. Snape swore he widened his puppy dog eyes just for effect.

Snape raised an eyebrow quizzically. "This troll of yours is where exactly, pray?"

The brat combed his hair with his fingers sheepishly. "I, uh, guess it's still in the bathroom. I mean, trolls aren't too bright."

Severus didn't bother to grace this latest idiocy with a comment, and swept past him to the bathroom. He turned at the door to see that Potter was still standing there. He glared.

"Well? Get to your dormitory, boy!"

He heard pattering steps behind him as Potter's spawn raced away, no doubt to regale his House with the heroic tale of his defeat of the troll. He suppressed a sneer as he pushed open the door and stood, utterly floored. It had been a very long time since he had been so surprised. Several decades, if one were to be precise.

oOo

His first instinct was complete and utter shock. The troll lay on the ground, eyes crossed and bleeding from a sizeable dent in its skull, mushy grey matter leaking out. Severus tried not to think about what that might have been. He swiftly and professionally made sure the thing was really dead. (Trolls had been known to survive ridiculously improbable situations before.)

Two seconds and a muted green light later, Severus had bypassed his shock and was now nervously checking over his shoulders. It must have been the first time he had actually been glad for the tracking charm Dumbledore made him wear.

"Come _on_, you senile coot!" he muttered half to himself, senses on overdrive.

After all, anything that could take down a troll that size quietly without blinking was not something he wanted to meet. No matter how supposedly immortal he was.

oOo

"Someone is after that Stone, Albus!" Minerva ranted, "This is a _school_! I _told_ you-"

"Minerva." Dumbledore broke in, eyes solemn. "I have no doubt _He_ is after the stone."

McGonagall blanched. "Are you insane, Albus?" she demanded in a hoarse whisper. "To invite that- that _monster_ into a school full of children?"

He looked weary, feeling the weight of his many years. "I have taken precautions, Minerva. Would you think me so blind as to let _Him_ act as he wishes?"

McGonagall looked away.

"It is for the good of all, my dear."

She bit her lips anxiously in a rare show of emotion. "As you will, Albus. On your head be it."

He nodded grimly, a hidden strength glinting in his eyes. "On our heads be it all."

oOo

Minerva had barely left the room when she came running back, out of breath and eyes wild.

"Albus! There is a rogue troll-"

She was silenced abruptly as Dumbledore turned to one of the shiny whirligigs on his left that had begun to spin and smoke. He surged to his feet in a swirl of brightly colored robes.

"He is here. I must go." He turned to Minerva. "Severus is in the ground floor boy's bathroom. Near the Great Hall."

She looked bewildered and lost. "Albus…how…where…"

"Hurry!"

She left in a patter of running steps. Dumbledore turned to the phoenix on the perch at his side.

"Fawkes." he said simply.

It cocked its head and chirruped knowingly. He held out an arm and it climbed on.

"Do the honors, please."

The two vanished in a roar of flames.

oOo

Quirrell stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, singed, drenched, and _very_ irritated. Dumbledore's little tricks had been easily disabled, and Quirrell was feeling rather cheated. The coot could at least have the decency to make it harder for him. It was as if the wrinkled old coot was standing next to him now, thumbing his nose at him. Quirrell sneered as he glared at that ridiculous mirror. The Stone must be there, somewhere. He could feel it- just barely through all the layers of enchantment on it, but it was there nonetheless. It made him want to smash the damn thing, knowing the Stone was there, within his reach, but that he didn't have the time necessary to pick apart the delicate, wispy enchantments-

His head shot up as one of his proximity sensors went off. Fire travel. Dumbledore. He sprinted out of the room, hastily reconstructing the wake of dead spells behind him. A twitch here and a nudge there… The spells glittered faintly to his sight as he chanced a glance behind him. He could see the light reflected from the roaring flames now, growing fainter as he pelted down the hallway. He conjured a burst of flame as he vaulted through the Devil's Snare. Fluffy (Who in there right mind would name that _thing_ Fluffy?) stirred uneasily. He vanished the harp and dove through the door, slamming it shut behind him, heart racing.

Thankfully, the hallway was deserted, as it would become increasingly hard to explain away his actions in front of a member of the faculty. Quirrell ran towards the nearest dorm- Ravenclaw, as it turned out. He would blame his lateness on being roped into the search for the troll.

* * *

A/N: ANYWAY, to make up for the really late chappie, I hereby present to you... 2,500 words (or some where around there). :D I deeply apologize, and have two words to say to you: high. school.

Ugh. _Much_ too much homework. Hopefully I will be able to dig myself out of a stack of papers long enough to write another chapter. No worries though, this story is NOT being abandoned. Ever, if I have anything to say about it.


	19. Shocking Revelations

"Speech"

_'Thoughts'_

_**"Spells"**_

Dedicated to dans l'obscurite, whose message completely made my day.

* * *

Quirrell screamed in frustration. While this was often a common sight in Hogwarts (most often heard in some frustrated Ravenclaw's dormitory during a last minute study raid) the source of the scream was quite odd. Quirrell did not scream. Well, unless you counted the one time he was pursued by a rather irate vampire, according to student rumors. And the troll incident. But the fact remained the Quirrell did not scream.

A few bats fluttered out the window in alarm. Making an irritated sound, he flopped gracefully onto the bed and glared at the shambles that was his room, willing it to neaten. Books sailed across the room to land on their proper shelves, categorized by topic. Drawers opened to receive their contents. Dust collected in a neat pile in the middle if the room and obediently vanished itself. The pendant failed to appear.

He swore loudly. "Blast and damn!"

He began to pace, irritably flicking his robes out of the way as they coiled around him like serpents. He stopped abruptly, eyes flickering intently to a patch of molding at the base of the wall.

"Pettigrew." he snapped, as a light flashed around the room, sealing its inhabitants inside. A rat emerged from the woodwork hesitantly and transformed into a small, rodent-like man.

"My Lord?" he squeaked out.

Voldemort faced him angrily, visibly restraining himself. "Where. Is. That. Pendant?"

Wormtail flinched. "P-pendant, my Lord?" he ventured cautiously.

"Crucio."

He screamed, twitching in agony and collapsed to the floor when the curse was ended.

"Where is it?"

Pettigrew struggled shakily to his feet, fingers still jerking erratically from the aftershocks of the curse, eyes nervously darting about the room.

"Might I suggest D-dumbledore, my Lord?" he stammered out. He flinched as Voldemort's burning crimson gaze settled on him, then sagged slightly in relief when it moved on the stare pensively into space.

Voldemort frowned, eyes narrowed in thought. "No. he would have simply demanded it from me earlier, and I am positive I have aroused no suspicion. He would discredit anything Severus tries." he concluded, anger slowly seeping away.

Wormtail relaxed, but never let his eyes stray away from Voldemort. Voldemort turned to him, decision made.

"I want you watching the coot's office. Discreetly."

Wormtail bobbed his head nervously. "Yes, my Lord." He bowed, and shrank quickly into a rather shabby looking grey rat and began to scamper towards the wall, relieved he had gotten off extremely lightly.

"Wormtail." came a hissed word.

He froze, whiskers twitching nervously. He could feel the steady gaze of the Dark Lord burning into his back.

"Do not fail me."

He shuddered.

oOo

Hermione reached for a quill absently with one hand, mind racing to memorize the complicated-looking Transfiguation array on the blackboard. Her fingers hit the cloth bottom of her bag, and she frowned, blindly groping for the quill she knew was there. She really had to organize her bag soon, this was ridiculous.

She stilled as her fingers brushed something cold and smooth, a crawling feeling settling into her gut. What- the necklace. It must be. A brilliant flash of green filled her mind and she recoiled, dropping that- that _thing_ like a hot coal and yanking her hand out of the bag. The chain seemed to cling to her hand and she shuddered.

"-s. Granger?" Professor McGonagall looked at her curiously. "Is anything the matter, Ms. Granger?"

She pasted a bright smile on her face and forced herself to shake her head.

"No, professor, I-" she stopped, struck by a brilliant idea. "A-actually, Professor, I feel a bit sick. I think I might have a cold." She sniffled a bit.

The professor looked at her worriedly. "Yes, there does seem to be a nasty bug going around the seventh years. I believe Pomfrey said it might be the Dragon Pox… Yes, yes. Off to the infirmary, Ms. Granger. It's best to be on the safe side, Dragon Pox is highly contagious."

Hermione nodded slightly, twisting her features into something that she hoped looked vaguely queasy. It wasn't hard. Her stomach rebelled as the sensation of the necklace clinging to her hand decided to reassert itself.

"Well, go on, then! Hurry off to Madame Pomfrey, quick now. I'm sure she'll be able to do something to help."

Hermione bobbed her head quickly and fairly sprinted out of the classroom, door slamming behind her.

The library would have something about- about that _thing_. Surely.

oOo

Harry woke up on Christmas morning to the sound of the Weasley's snoring. He blearily struggled out of bed and pulled his wand from under his pillow, absently flicking it. 4:50 A.M. December 25. Couldn't very well go back to sleep_ now,_ could he? He glared at Weasley and with a slight effort, convinced the spider in the corner to hang itself directly over Weasley's bed and _stay there_.

He turned and tripped over something and neatly fell though the window that was for some reason open (an owl, perhaps?). His mind went blank as he stared down at the ground far below him, heart racing. His hand shot out and grabbed the ledge, bringing his tumble to an abrupt stop. The icy wind bit cruelly into his fingers. He hauled himself back in slowly and painstakingly. His arms ached when he finally struggled in to land in an ungainly pile on the warm carpeted floor of Gryffindor tower. He inwardly berated himself, mind replaying his most recent brush with death.

How could he have become so complacent? So _soft_. He had thought himself better, and he'd nearly died! Gone, squished like the annoying bug he'd stepped on earlier. And what had nearly killed him? He glanced at the pile, expression incredulous as he finally realized what had prompted his near-fall. Presents. Christmas presents. He couldn't die like a sensible person in his sleep or on a battlefield somewhere. No. he had to nearly get offed by his own Christmas presents.

His frown turned contemplative. He had never had something as- as pointless as this happen at the Dursleys. No, he never would have tripped. He truly was getting soft, the little magic lessons and warm meals had spoiled him. He actually _expected_ them now. His frown deepened, then vanished. He would begin to train his magic again. And maybe it wouldn't hurt if he got a bit stronger, too. The sensation of hanging from a slippery ledge high in the air returned, and he shuddered. Definitely stronger.

But first… He tore into his presents eagerly after checking for hexes and curses. He'd never had presents before. A happy smile unwittingly began to slip onto his face, and for once, he looked like an innocent untouched by hatred. A child.

oOo

Once it was late, Harry slipped into the dorm, deactivated his traps and alarms, and opened his trunk. He eyed the invisibility cloak, a covetous glint entering his eye. _Mine_. An invisibility cloak… now _there_ was something he had wanted ever since he'd heard of it. It wasn't infallible, but the sheer amount of uses it could be put to… He shook his head briefly to clear it and, with a quick glance around (everyone was sleeping) slipped it quickly over his head and shimmered out of existence. A few seconds later, his trunk closed itself, security measures springing up again, and the Fat Lady swung open slightly and shut, leaving a thin crack of light to shine through. After all, he might need to get back in.

Harry lightly jogged down the hallway, a muffling charm silencing his footfalls. Now for an empty classroom to practice in…

oOo

Harry frowned as a stray idea popped into his mind. '_The Restricted Section…_' he mused. He instantly dismissed the idea, almost laughing. Why in the name of Merlin would he need to sneak into the Restricted Section? He'd _been_ there several times already when Pince's back was turned. He found being on the crotchety old bat's good side helped too, although many people would swear she didn't _have_ a good side. He had a healthy respect for the old hag: the woman had an eagle's eye, and a tongue twice as sharp.

His mind turned back to his wanderings, and he scowled as he realized he was in an area of the castle he didn't recognize. That should be impossible… but then, nothing was impossible in Hogwarts. Doors and staircases were known to regularly move around.

Harry froze as a cracked old voice drifted down the corridor.

"Come here, my pretty. We'll find out who's been out after dark, won't we, Mrs. Norris?"

_Shite!_

A harsher voice followed immediately after. "For Merlin's sake, man, stop talking to your thrice-blasted cat!"

Harry began to back slowly down the hall, then grabbed the nearest door and bolted in.

He breathed a sigh of relief before a loud growling sound made him slowly (and not so calmly) turn around. Six pairs of dark eyes glittered at him as the Cerberus opened it gaping maws and lunged-

Harry hastily stumbled out of the room and slammed the door.

He vaguely registered the two's heads snap to face the sudden sound, and by default, him. He somehow _knew _Snape could see him, despite the cloak. That was not good. That was most definitely not good. Or maybe it was because Mrs. Norris was stalking around his feet…

He delivered a sharp kick to her side, sending her flying into the wall with a satisfying thwack, then pelted down the hallway for dear life. It wasn't as if anyone but Filch would miss her, anyway, but if he was caught… He dove down a secret passage grimly, then took a sharp right. Well, if he was caught it wouldn't be pretty. And if he couldn't shake them off, he was going to damn well try.

oOo

Harry tumbled into the room, gasping for breath. He shut the door quickly, despite being (fairly) sure he'd shaken off Snape and Filch (possibly). It had taken far longer than he would have liked- the two constantly bickered, but together they were close nigh impossible to evade. Snape would always miraculously appear just as Harry thought he had lost the two, and Harry _swore _he could see through the Invisibility Cloak. Somehow.

He got to his feet and turned to face the room, heaving a frustrated sigh and his eyes landed on a large gilt mirror with ornate clawed feet. He examined it curiously…

He jerked back and whirled around, eyes wide. The room was empty. So then what was…

He slowly turned back to the mirror. The people inside smiled and waved, and Harry felt a warm feeling wash over him. It was as if he were meeting old, dear friends that he couldn't quite remember…

His eyes flickered over the inscription.

'_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'_

Emerald eyes glimmered in sudden comprehension.

'_I show not your face but your heart's desire.__'_

Harry watched the people waving to him, a sudden icy cold sinking into the pit of his stomach.

'_I show not your face…'_

He had a feeling that there had been dozens before him, all long dead and gone. Entranced by the mirror's siren call. His hand inched closer to the glass, wanting to at least touch their faces.

He stopped himself. "No." he said softly, skin prickling. This wasn't- This wasn't _right_. Somehow.

His eyes darkened and he abruptly turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, slipping the silvery invisibility cloak over his head.

The door swung shut silently behind him, leaving an aged Headmaster wondering what had happened to the boy that would have caused the mirror to upset him so, and an ancient mirror gleaming alluringly of forgotten dreams.

* * *

A/N: :D And it's... OUT! :D ...ugh...finals... must...survive...


	20. Exit Quirrell

"Talking"

_Emphasis/Dreaming/Thoughts_

_**"Spells"**  
_

* * *

Harry frowned as he looked at the usual chaos that dinner at Hogwarts usually entailed. A strange feeling slowly receded. Recently, it seemed to have occurred more often. He put his glass down as the Hall seemed to spin unsteadily before him, a bit nauseous. He was absolutely sure he hadn't eaten anything poisoned… Maybe he should go to bed early. That Granger girl had been sick in Transfiguration, after all.

He made his excuses and left the Hall.

oOo

Quirrell glanced surreptiously down the table, ignoring the attempts of Sprout to engage him into a conversation with herself and Flitwick. Dumbledore was away to serve on the Wizamagot tonight, and the professors were due to have a… meeting tonight. Something could be arranged to suitably distract or delay them. He replaced his fork on the table decisively with a snap, mentally nodding to himself. Tonight. He might not receive another chance for months. That decided, he turned to Sprout and stuttered out a short reply.

She beamed happily, and began to chatter to Flitwick. Good. He didn't think his well-worn patience could take any more of the optimistic witch's mindless babble.

oOo

Harry woke with a jolt, sweat beading his forehead. He wasn't quite sure he'd seen it, it might have been a trick of the light. He cast his memory back to the room with the mirror. _Mirror of Erised, his subconscious provided. _ No, he was sure of it. He had seen a glint of green glass for a second. He shivered, eyes unusually bright. It _was_ something that Dumbledore would do. He threw back the covers and began to dress hurriedly, slipping his wand out from under his pillow. He _had_ to know; he wouldn't be able to live knowing he was so close to his precious glow and had let it slip out of his hands. He pulled the invisibility cloak out from his trunk determinedly.

_I must succeed. I _will_ succeed._

The Fat Lady swung shut silently, blinking sleepily at an empty hallway.

oOo

Fluffy, Fluffy, and Fluffy growled menacingly at the figure that dared to intrude their sacred home. He would die. Painfully. They had told the giant-man that if he _dared_ bring anyone else in, he would shortly be missing that person. Why was it that everyone assumed that they would roll over and calmly accept whatever task was set to them? They were no dogs. They were the_ Cerberus._ Fluffy barked as he felt his head begin to droop alarmingly. What was the stick-man doing- He fell into blackness, his fellow brothers following him soon after. A few minutes later, the only sounds in the room were loud snoring and the tinkling melody of a frail harp perched in one dark corner.

oOo

Harry opened the heavy door cautiously, peering around it for any enemies. His eyes narrowed as the sound of snoring and harp music spilled out into the corridor. A… lullaby, if he was not mistaken. He shook his head briefly; that wasn't important right now. Someone had broken in before him. No extra magical signatures, though, odd. Maybe the person had some way to mask their signature, like his cloak. He swore silently and raced in. He remembered to shut the door behind him, of course. The last thing he needed was a professor coming to investigate.

He lifted the trapdoor with a well-placed _**Wingardium Leviosa**_. It groaned open slowly, and Harry cast a cursory glance at the slumbering Cerberus before he studied the darkness under the trapdoor. As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he could tell it wasn't empty. Something was moving down there.

"_**Lumos.**_" He cast, peering into the- ah. It was a plant. Devil's Snare, perhaps.

The tendrils wriggled unpleasantly as if in pain, trying to escape the bright, unforgiving light. Harry's grin widened for a second and he leant closer with the light before he stopped himself and frowned. A Cerberus, Devil's Snare. Not exactly very secure measures, even considering other, less conspicuous (disabled, of course) alarms. It was as if Dumbledore _wanted_ him to find this. Whatever this motley defense was. Harry was instantly on his guard.

Harry shifted so he was sitting on the edge of the trapdoor, legs dangling below him, and made sure the cloak was folded and tightly held under one arm so it wouldn't get torn. He jumped.

oOo

Voldemort startled from where he stood over the bloodied corpse of the troll. His awareness of his alarm spells had been cut off abruptly. His grin grew to become more feral as he felt a magical signature fall through what he assumed to be the Devil's Snare and steadily approach. A very familiar magical signature.

So Potter had decided to visit, had he? Well, Voldemort would be _very sure_ to ensure he enjoyed his stay. It was only fair repayment for eleven _years _of irritation and pain, after all.

oOo

By the time Harry had passed a room full of flying keys, (the door had been blown off its hinges) a giant chess set (similarly spectacularly destroyed) and a troll (viciously mauled) he was getting more and more apprehensive. Whoever the stranger was, he wasn't too concerned about being caught, and was either immensely stupid or immensely strong. Judging from the trail of destruction, Harry would bet on the latter. He shuddered as he swallowed the remainder of the potion in the tiny bottle (barely a drop, really) after he was completely sure it wasn't a poison. A wave of ice shot through his body and he stepped hesitantly through the wall of flames.

The thought of having his glow back was the only thing keeping him going at this point, really. He had no desire to end up in a coffin prematurely.

oOo

The chamber at the end of the hallway was lit by flickering torches, throwing shadows against the wall. Harry crept behind a pillar, willing his eyesight to sharpen. For a moment his eyes flared green, his head aching as he now noted every stitch on the intruder's robes, the gilt on the cheap buttons.

_Too close._

His vision obediently adjusted to a manageable level. He coolly noted that Quirrell apparently now had red eyes. Voldemort. So that had been the reason for his seemingly random paranoia around the Defence professor. Odd, yet not really. Harry was more than a little peeved, though, that he hadn't really bothered to pin down the root of his alarm. Another thing he would have to change in the near future, if- no, _when_ he survived, that is.

The mirror was also interesting. So many enchantments were spun around it that the thing shone like the sun. He absently lowered the intensity of the magical sight, staring curiously at the mirror. He could see himself in it, strangely. That should be impossible considering he was tucked almost completely behind a pillar. His reflection smirked and waved, dropping a blood-red stone into his pocket before vanishing. The mirror returned to the image of the four people he had seen before in the room. Fascinating…

He scrambled back with a hastily bit back curse when the spell on his eyes snapped suddenly, the backlash stinging. Dammit, he'd noticed Harry-

Burning red eyes drilled into the shadows, pinning Harry where he stood. "Don't be shy, Potter, I know you're there."

Harry stayed absolutely still.

The eyes narrowed. "Quit trying to hide, fool."

He gestured suddenly, and Harry found his feet walking themselves out into the light. He snarled and broke the spell instinctively before he was dragged all the way to Voldemort and stood blinking in the sudden light.

Voldemort was quite odd, actually. Not what he'd been expecting, certainly. Not nearly as impressive. He had an air of calculated insanity about him, but insanity didn't suit Quirrell's body in the slightest. The resulting figure was actually quite comical. Or would have been. If it hadn't been, well, Voldemort in there, he supposed.

Voldemort sneered "Boy! Where is the Sorcerer's Stone?"

Harry's mind was working at lightspeed. _So he was looking for the Philosopher's Stone. Immortal life?_

Harry sneered equally derisively. "Where. Is. _My._ _Pendant_?" he snapped.

A calculating look slipped across Voldemort's face for a brief moment before it was smoothed away. "So Wormtail was, it seems, correct." he said with an air of disgust. "The pendant is indeed yours."

"I believe that much was obvious." Harry retorted sharply.

"Tell me, _boy_, what might you do for that pendant?"

Harry stiffened, his eyes flashing an eerie green. His voice seemed to abruptly lower an octave and became positively glacial as he hissed "You know full well, Riddle. _Anything._"

Voldemort recoiled.

Just as suddenly, he coughed and went limp, eyes no longer glowing but a spark of defiance still present.

"How do you know _that name_?" Voldemort spat.

Harry eyed Voldemort disdainfully and spat at his feet. "All things have a price, Riddle, and you haven't yet paid." he said scathingly.

Pure murderous rage clouded crimson eyes.

"_**Crucio.**_" he hissed.

Harry merely laughed. As the spell approached, that _something_ stirred inside him again and he instinctively twisted out of the way effortlessly, like he had done so hundreds of times before.

He let out another peal of laughter as his eyes flashed again and a smirk began to form on his face. All plans washed away in the glorious feeling of rightness that enveloped him.

"_**Diffindo.**_" he whispered.

The spell careened towards Voldemort and cut a wide gash in his sleeve as he belatedly stumbled out of harm's way.

Harry felt as if he were floating. Time had slowled, and he could see each move Voldemort was going to make. Each spell flowed into his mind at exactly the right time, and he laughed with glee. It all felt so natural.

Harry felt his grin growing as he shot off yet another spell. Child's play.

oOo

Voldemort was getting increasedly frustrated. The brat- Potter, he grudgingly conceded- had skill. Unnatural skill. Even _he_ hadn't been able to duel like that at Potter's age- skill like that took decades to gain. What was more, Potter was matching every increase in effort he was making, and had yet to take a hint or stop toying with him. Voldemort was beginning to become serious, and Potter's idiotic giggling fit was not helping his temper. Nor was the fact that the brat was darting around like a demented Dumbledore on Firewhiskey.

He growled. "Hold still, dammit!"

A mocking laugh rang through the chamber, and Voldemort's fingers turned slightly white with the pressure of his grip as his temper flared again.

"That is _IT!_" he snarled, and jerked his wand into the opening sequence of his most lethal spell chain.

Screw Potter. Screw recruitment. _Nobody_ laughed at Lord Voldemort. Nobody.

He watched in satisfaction as Potter's eyes widened and he dove out of the way, eyes narrowing slightly as the sound of a rock bouncing echoes around the chamber.

Potter came out of the resulting explosion mildly singed, the tips of his hair smoking and his robes severely charred.

A blood red stone clattered out of his pocket.

"_**Accio!**_" Voldemort beat Potter to his wand, and the Stone soared across the space between them and thwacked solidly into his palm.

Potter swore. Loudly. Voldemort jerked in surprise, eyes wide, as Potter began a spell that was not at all sanctioned by the Ministry and most definitely very _dark_ magic in _Parseltongue_. What on earth-

He spun swiftly and apparated, shattering the anti-apparation wards. Subtlety was pretty much shot anyway. As the familiar feeling of being squeezed through a narrow tube enveloped him, he smiled…

oOo

Harry swore. Loudly.

He had been such an idiot. He had lost control and forgotten about the Stone. It was a miracle he was still alive! A sudden pain wracked his body. What-

He collapsed onto his knees, clutching his head. It felt like it was tearing itself in half and ithurtithurtithurt-

His magic thrummed anxiously. Harry's eyes rolled up and he fainted.

oOo

Dumbledore fairly flew down the sloping hallway, intent on the two duelists. He had come as soon as he heard the alarms go off, telling him that someone had bypassed his security measures, and the Stone was gone, but it might be too late…

He cursed as he saw Volde- _Tom's_ wand whip around into a pattern he recognized instantly, one that had caused the deaths of many a talented duelist during the war.

Harry was a first year, on the other hand… He silently prayed to Lily and James to forgive him. He hadn't liked it, but it was necessary to send children to fight. For the Greater Good.

He distantly recognized a crimson stone gleaming in Tom's hand before he disapparated. Dumbledore gritted his teeth. That would make everything so much more difficult…

The boy could have had the decency to stall Voldemort until he came. It had only been a few more seconds! Really.

Dumbledore sighed and dropped to his knees next to Harry, checking his vitals. With this much stray magic in the room, it was better to go the muggle way. He felt a weak pulse and gently picked Harry up.

On the way out, he noted the Mirror had (remarkably) managed to somehow remain intact. That would have to be moved somewhere safer, of course… Two shadowed figures- a small girl and an older boy, almost a man- waved back at him. He smiled silently in return, and left the room.

oOo

Harry stirred uneasily in his sleep. _He was in his cupboard, and his glow was with him, he clutched it happily, not knowing why he was so afraid, and a woman's light voice sang to him … The dream changed._

_ He chased after his glow as it slid farther and farther away, through endless mirrors, and always a pair of laughing red eyes followed him… He screamed in frustration, and the dream changed again._

_ He was in a large hall, brightly lit. He vaguely recognized this hall; it was odd without the hundreds of candles that usually floated above the tables and the uniformed students that usually filled it so much more than this, but he knew he was sitting at the staff table. He marveled at how different the Great Hall looked when seen from above. He looked down; he wore elegant old fashioned robes, and the woman who was singing before- he didn't know how he knew, just that he did- was offering him a glass of some dark liquid- wine, perhaps, but he had never drunk wine before in his life or maybe he had, he couldn't remember, it was too fuzzy- and he was smiling, until the scene flew away and he was four, sitting under a parkbench in the rain and he was helpless-weak-pathetic-freakis-_

"NO!"

Harry shot bolt upright in his bed, panting slightly, sweat beading his forehead.

A hand shook him gently. "Harry! Harry, calm down, you're safe. It was just a nightmare."

Concerned blue eyes stared at him and Harry flinched back. He schooled his face quickly into a neutral mask. Dumbledore let a bit of disappointment leak through his grandfatherly visage.

"Was there nothing you wanted to ask me, my dear boy? Surely you must have some questions."

"Actually, Headmaster…" Harry trailed off. "May I speak?"

Dumbledore nodded gently. "Anytime, my dear boy."

Harry bit his lip slightly. "What happened to the Stone…"

Dumbledore let his face fall somewhat. "Indeed Voldemort has escaped this time, but you must keep it in mind that it was not your fault, my boy." He shook his head regretfully. "Truly you did your best."

Harry looked down. He didn't trust his eyes not to betray his rage at the senile old man. _My fault, indeed. Bloody coot!_

"Yes, sir."

A moment of silence passed.

"Sir," Harry began. "was anything else taken?"

Dumbledore hesitated and almost looked as if he would deny any weakness, but finally said solemnly "Yes, my boy. He took with him the body of our dear deceased Professor Quirrell, and a necklace of great research interest…" He gave Harry a faint smile. "It is of no consequence, my dear boy, you are safe, that is all that matters. Do not worry. Strict efforts are being made to track him down."

He stood. "Is that all, my boy? I must confess, I have to leave soon to reach my next Defense class with my second years…"

Harry shook his head. "It's… fine. Professor. Thank you."

Dumbledore nodded and briskly strode out of the hospital ward. Harry gripped the sheets in his hands and stifled a scream of frustration.

oOo

Hermione dropped the last book back onto the library table with a loud thump, prompting some irritated shushing from a nearby table of seventh years cramming for N.E.W.T.s. Nothing. There was no mention of a pendant like this anywhere. She hadn't really expected it, of course, but still…

She tentatively pocked the chain with a quill. About a ten minutes ago, the pendant had stopped feeling evil-ish and had begun to exude a warm, friendly aura. Hermione wasn't exactly convinced what had prompted the change, but it probably wasn't good. Hesitantly, she touched it, waiting for something- what, she didn't know. Nothing. She steeled herself. This was probably momentously stupid, but… A small voice in her mind encouraged her, egging her on. _Are you a Gryffindor or not? It's just a pretty necklace. Imagine how jealous the other girls will be-_ she squashed that sentence. She didn't need the other girls' favor any more than they needed her. It _would_ be nice, though. And it might help her to figure out whatever the hell this thing was, too. She _hated_ leaving mysteries unsolved.

Hermione slipped it on, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Nothing seemed to happen, except a warm, comforting feeling settled around her. She looked around, eyes wide. How could she have missed this before? Of _course_ she didn't need the other girls. She was better than all of them, far greater, _special_!

She laughed giddily, brimming with confidence and power, skipping gleefully out of the library and into the Great Hall, soaking in the way Lavender Brown's eyes widened in jealousy as Hermione plopped herself down and began to cheerfully talk to Parvati and Seamus Finnigan. The feeling was wonderful. Hermione wanted it to go on forever…

Almost overnight, the politics of Gryffindor house completely reversed. Hermione Granger was in heaven.

oOo

Hermione bit her lip anxiously, glancing around Platform 9¾ while her parents fussed over her. It really was nice of Parvati's parents to help her mum onto the station, but she couldn't really appreciate her parent's attention right now. She felt oddly detatched, as if her mother was a distant, somewhat eccentric relative; cool disdain for the constant fussing rather than warm reassurement.

Hermione finally snapped. "I'm not a_ baby_, mum! Honestly!"

She looked vaguely hurt. "I just want to make sure you're alright, dear. The girls weren't too cruel to you were, they?"

For some reason this set her off. "I can take care of myself, thanks." Hermione said coldly.

"You _are_ alri-"

She cut her mother off midsentence. "And I'm _fine_, mum. I swear."

Her father broke the sudden silence. "Well, the tram leaves at a quarter to four. We should get going."

Hermione hadn't really meant to snap at her mum, but it _was_ annoying. The constant weight of the necklace reassured her as it thumped rhythmically against her chest. She would spend the summer with her parents. She was going home. That was all that mattered, she told herself firmly. Home.

oO End Year One Oo

* * *

A/N: ^.^ So! The first confrontation is over! Yes, Harry's rather cowardly. He's an 11 year old, who wasn't exactly brave to begin with, and has just spent the last ten years (well, more like five, but still) bullying his relatives into doing whatever he wants. He wants to change now, because he suddenly knows there's people who could probably squish him flat without a further glance, but he's going to find it harder to change than he thinks. Old habits, and all that.

Planning to go on through years 1-4. Got you a few more hints to chew on, more will be coming next year. Also some setup, and things like that.

**READERS, PLEASE NOTE:** For those concerned he's a super!harry, let it be said- any and all dueling he did in this chapter was done COMPLETELY instinctively. His body remembers, but he's not doing it consciously, so he's a heck of a lot worse than he would be if he knew what he was doing. Readers should also note the only reason/s he survived is: 1, Voldemort underestimated him, 2, Voldemort's reluctance to do any major magic for fear of alerting Dumbledore, and 3, insane amounts of luck. Like the luck that got him through it in canon. Voldemort is much less likely to underestimate him in the future, so unless little Harry-kins shapes up, he's basically screwed. He may be good for a first year, but he had NOTHING on Lord Voldemort currently.


	21. Storm on the Horizon

"Talking"

**"Radio"**

**_Emphasis_  
**

* * *

In London, Hermione woke from a fitful sleep as she abruptly crashed off her bed onto the floor. She struggled out of her sweat-soaked blankets, shivering in the chill as she swept the curtains aside and shoved open her room's window. There was a dark blackish storm gathering on the horizon. She shuddered as it loomed over London, as if to swallow it whole. There was something she didn't like about this storm. Something wrong.

Across the hall, the light flicked on in her parents' room.

"Hermione?" Her mother appeared in the doorway. "Did you have a nightmare? Why is the window open? You'll get a chill."

She fussed over Hermione. Hermione wasn't really paying attention. She turned abruptly to her mother. "Mum, did you have a nightmare too?"

Her mother looked at Hermione curiously. "How did you… Is it one of those magic things, dear?"

Hermione turned away, back toward the window. Her face was grim. "I don't know, mum. I don't know."

Tucked under her summer pajamas, a pendant flashed weakly, a sickly green, then subsided.

oOo

"Frea-Nephew."

Harry looked up from the book he was reading, utterly bemused. Vernon usually tried to ignore Harry's existence, so a conversation was one of the last things Harry had expected. Though he was slowly becoming accustomed to being surprised.

Vernon's face was an interesting combination of chalk white and mauve. "Your Aunt Petunia-"

Here Harry mentally sighed. Must Vernon emphasize their slight relation every chance he got? Harry couldn't honestly care less.

Vernon rumbled obliviously on. "-has the flu. You can make yourself useful for once and cook dinner… please?" He trailed off into an embarrassing squeak at the end of his little speech once he became aware of the dark glare he was receiving from his previously complacent nephew.

Harry shut the book coldly and deliberately with a snap. Adrenaline churned through his body as he fought to keep his features impassive, his thoughts racing. His voice was soft and dangerous when he did speak.

"You test my patience."

Vernon shuddered, but stood firm.

Harry slid off the couch and stormed up the stairs, mood rapidly darkening. The Dursleys had begun to test the limits of his power after an incident with Dudley earlier in the summer produced no 'freakishness' on Harry's part. They grew bolder with each confrontation. He had wondered how long he could keep this farce up without actually using magic. He snorted mentally. Now, I guess. Harry didn't regret his treatment of the Dursleys, not at all- he knew they would return the favor twice over if they ever found him helpless. He had never thought the time would come.

The time had come. The time was now. It was a sobering thought.

oOo

**"…And reports of fleeing creatures, magical and muggle, through out Europe. The disturbances seem to be centered around Great Britain and other, smaller isolated areas such as Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. The cause of this disturbance has not yet been determined. The long-standing Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, declined to comment. Net on the air, we have definite news of the Weird Sisters next hit, Sta-"** the sounds of the radio died in a crackle of static as Harry twiddled the dial irritably. No news, then. Though he wasn't sure it was good in this case. He flopped back onto the bed with an irritated sigh, narrowly missing the drying ink on his carefully penned Potions essay and sending a few other papers fluttering to the floor.

The sky was a bright blue, and it was irritatingly peaceful and _normal_ in Privet Drive for once. Harry hated it. Outside, he could see the neighbors beginning to clear the debris from last night's storm. He snorted. More like hurricane. The Dursleys had been convinced it was Harry's doing, thankfully, because Harry wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the pretense of being able to do magic now without _actually doing_ any. After years of harassing the Dursleys, Harry felt quite sick at the thought of what they might do to _him_ given half a chance. It was not a pleasant thought. Years of deprogramming wasted.

Anyway, they were half-right in a sense, much as he was loath to admit it. The storm _had_ been magical in nature, he was sure of it. What should have been a simple summer squall had swelled to the size of a small tornado and rampaged through Privet Drive.

He frowned again, this time contemplatively. There was something he didn't like about that storm. Something felt… off.

He shivered, though whether in fear or anticipation he didn't know.

Interesting.

oOo

Diagon Alley looked much the same as it had before, though Flourish and Blotts was absolutely packed with squealing women of every age. Harry shuddered, hands immediately rising to cover his ears. He _hated_ crowds. With a passion.

He spared the crowded bookstore a slightly nervous glance. Funny how someone who had fought off a Dark Lord twice and nearly died more times than he cared to remember was scared of a crowd of women. He shuddered again as a particularly loud squeal pierced the air and turned on his heel to walk away from the store as fast as he reasonably could without losing his dignity.

He could visit the other stores first. Yes, yes, the Apocathary on Knockturn seemed much more appealing about now. Shadows and quiet… He slipped into the entrance to the Alley, pulling a cloak out of his space expanded pocket and joining the number of other black-cloaked, shady individuals in the street, just another faceless wizard among several. Perfect.

oOo

Severus Snape was admiring a dusty Potions tome in Borgin and Burkes when his finely honed instincts told him to look up. He did so promptly. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the usual crowd of black-cloaked wizards drifting by outside the grimy shop windows, but living on a political knife's edge had kept him firmly trusting his instincts.

He bid a polite, yet firm farewell to Mr. Burke and headed out the door.

oOo

Harry suddenly felt the back of his neck prickle in a very familiar way. Someone was watching him. But who? His eyes discreetly scanned the crowd as he nonchalantly strolled down the street.

Hand hidden by his sleeve, he fingered his wand apprehensively. This was not good. Now what was left was to find out just _how_ screwed he was.

oOo

Snape stalked the slight figure in the cloak imperceptibly. His eyes tracked the figure's movements. Occasionally, he stopped to briefly chat with a vendor or admire something in the window displays. There was something familiar about the figure, something nagging at him. He pushed the thought aside for now, concentrating on the hunt. He knew the figure knew something was happening; could practically see the nervous tension radiating off of the smaller wizard.

A grim smile tugged at his face as the knowledge of his prey's destination sparked to the surface of his mind. There would be no escape from him today.

Abruptly, he turned and vanished into a cluster of shadows.

oOo

Harry glanced around swiftly, assessing his surroundings, then ducked into a nearby shadowed alley. His watcher would make his move now. He had to be vigilant. Lists of spells ran through his mind (oh, how he wished he knew more than the standard first and second-year spells, none of them were really useful in this sort of situation). As if he could even really use any of them: who knew what sort of monitoring the Ministry had placed on him. Constant vigilanc-

He turned around and hastily stifled a scream, accidentally tripping over the hem of his overly large cloak (it had seemed like a good idea at the time) and landing heavily on the ground, his hood slipping off.

"Potter?" He heard an incredulous voice ask. "What in seven hells are you doing here?"

_Shite._

* * *

A.N/ Aaand, a cliffhanger! Kekeke... Harry really does have the worst luck when it come to our resident Potions Master, da? Mostly filler and/or setup, the action starts picking up next chapter. Sorry it took so long to get this out, writer's block seriously sucks.


	22. The Inexplicable

Summary: So far, we've had our little badass Harry etc. etc. tormenting the Dursleys, moving to Hogwarts, enduring the perils of First-Year, kindof sortof defeating Quirrell, and mysterious happenings abroad. In the more immediate sense, Harry has taken a trip to Knockturn Alley and has gotten cornered by a suspicious Snape.

* * *

"Potter?" He heard an incredulous voice ask. "What in seven hells are you doing here?"

_Shite._

The harsh stone of Knockturn Alley dug into his back as Harry half-sat, half-lay on the ground, his eyes locked with just about the last person he wanted to meet here.

He grudgingly admitted it could be worse- but just barely. Thankfully, the Headmaster didn't strike him as the type to be keen on visiting more... questionable places.

"Potter!"

Instinctively he flinched and shielded himself with his arms, the harsh tone bringing old memories of Vernon back from when he _couldn't_ use his special gift. "I didn't do it!" The familiar words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, even as his attention snapped back into the real world. He immediately made a point of relaxing, glaring back at Snape with the force of childhood summers misspent spent running and in hiding, flecks of brighter lime swimming in emerald eyes.

Snape peered back curiously, now far more interested by the slight boy in front of him. He knew that reaction all too well.

"Well? What exactly _are_ you doing, then?"

Potter scowled immediately, the figurative shutters slamming shut behind his eyes. "Nothing. I was walking. Or is that a crime, now?"

Snape kept his expression carefully neutral. "Really now."

The boy's glare, if at all possible, grew even more venomous. and he mentally sighed. _Children._

"I'm sure the Headmaster would be absolutely fascinated by your choice of... excursions." he drawled softly.

_I might not be legally authorized to do anything particularly nasty, but I can inform certain higher authorities that _can_._

"Certainly, I find myself... mystified."

_You do not want to cross that line, yes?_

Potter's expression briefly darkened before it cleared again. He picked himself up, dusting his robes off meticulously. He carefully avoided Snape's steady gaze. "...Fine."

_Hook, line, and sinker._

Snape strode imperiously to the mouth of the alley. If he hurried, he could still get the Headmaster's mindless drudgery done after dropping off the brat.

He didn't have to turn around to know the boy would follow.

oOoOo

One swift apparation later, the unlikely duo stood at the wrought iron gates of the main entrance to Hogwarts. Severus would usually use the smaller, less conspicuous kitchen entrance, but he had enough suspicions about the younger Potter without unnecessarily showing him secret (lesser-known, if one wanted to be technical) entrances and passages in Hogwarts.

The gates swung open with a slight creak as the wards registered Snape's magical signature. He strode through, then stood slightly off to one side while Potter reluctantly shuffled in as well. He shut the gates with a click, and he could see the wards blaze up again to seal the entrance.

They made decent time on the road to Hogwarts, if it could even be called a road. (Dirt paths. Dirt. Snape would like to pretend that the Wizarding World was at least slightly advanced, but when confronted with such a medieval civilization, he was forced to concede his defeat.) The minor drizzle that had occurred earlier that day had made the path slightly muddy, and Snape was contemplating the best way to cleanse his robes of the infernal mud that always seemed to cling to the hems when he saw it.

Potter saw it less than a second later, much to his displeasure.

"What _is_ that?" he half-whispered.

Snape's vision focused in on the point of warping air above the road at about twenty paces. It was pitch-black, and constantly changed shape as unseen currents swirled within, but maintained the rough shape of a oval approximately the size of Severus' entire upper body. Before the third second passed, he had already instructed the wards to seal off the area, with wards, no entrances, triple power. He absently noted the grounds about them were dead silent, any birds and wildlife gone long ago, even as he swore under his breath.

Apparently not quietly enough, as Potter shot him a startled glance.

"There has been a change of plans." he intoned, eyes still focused on the warping...hole. "Potter, as of now, you are officially under Hogwarts custody. I will escort you to the Headmaster's office, and you will_ stay there_. Is this clear?"

Potter managed a jerky nod before Severus grabbed his hand and nonexistent shadows swept the two up.

He deposited the boy roughly into a chair in the circular office a split second after they arrived, before sweeping off to find the Headmaster, who, no doubt, was puttering about somewhere. He felt a vague twinge of sympathy as he heard the sounds of dry heaving back in the office. Shadow travel had been hard on him, too, the first time he had encountered the peculiar method of transportation.

Another second had his magical senses zeroing in on the Headmasters' signature in the Great Hall, no doubt talking to Minerva. The old man was so predictable sometimes. A quick shadow had him slipping into the hallway just outside the Great Hall. He yanked the great double doors open easily, the 60 ft doors slamming against the stone walls with a resounding boom. Hogwarts was quietly reproachful, even as he got a vague sense that the impromptu wards he had ordered had been raised.

Dumbledore, Minerva, and Flitwick looked up with a startled gaze. Flitwick, in particular, had his wand out and pointed at the source of the tremendous sound, but Dumbledore was calmly implacable. He met the Headmaster's questioning gaze head on.

"Severus?" Minerva sounded absolutely perplexed at this new turn of events in an otherwise routine breakfast. She had, after all, never seen Severus lift anything more than a cauldron and a few potions flasks.

"No time." He rebutted. "Someone watch Potter, he's in the Headmaster's office, he'll probably want to know what going on."

Dumbledore quietly excused himself. The miniature war council of two met in the hallways, where Dumbledore raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Severus' unusual alarm.

"Trouble." Severus reported grimly.

The Headmaster seemed to draw himself up, kindly twinkling eyes vanishing to leave a war-hardened face scarred by the ravages of time. "Harry?"

"Your office." Severus ignored the real question, skipping to the issue at hand. "Albus, there's a -wrskta-"

Snape frowned, then tried again "A -etwyuf-; dammit, there's a bloody _hole_ in fucking time and space, Albus. In Hogwarts grounds."

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up, the equivalent of... well. Screaming in surprise, maybe. Merlin knew what was going through the blasted coot's head; he always _had_ been a touch off.

"And has this... hole done any damage?" he asked mildly.

Severus' eyebrow twitched violently. "That _thing_ chased off all the animals in a forty kilometer radius, _dissolved_ a few that didn't make it, and is currently sucking magic from the surrounding wards at a _frankly impossible_ rate. I _personally_ observed the blood-stained feathers." _Only you, Albus, would ask such a colossally idiotic question._

"I'll take your word for it, Severus." A gentle aura of reproach lay upon the Headmaster.

Snape inwardly drew on his inner stores of patience, enforcing iron-hard Occlumency barriers built up over centuries.

Finally, Dumbledore sighed, breaking the forced silence that stretched between the two of them. "I see I shall have to investigate, for the good of the school."

Severus remained impassive. _He used to at least pretend to care about the welfare of the students. He's slipping._

"_Dismissed_, Severus."

Dumbledore swept on down the hallway, thankfully at least in the vague direction of the... _thing._

Severus remained where he was until the last echoing footsteps died away. Finally, some of the tension seeped out of his frame, and he leaned heavily on the nearby stone wall gratefully massaging his temples.

The _wrongness_ hadn't gone away completely, but it had shrunk to a manageable uneasy niggle in the back of his mind. He hadn't missed how he was unable to say the -rwihfr-'s traditional name now, nor how much the small, practically-insignificant-but-anything-but distortion had unsettled him.

If he was correct, though, the worst was still to come.

Sometimes, he wished he had never moved to England. Blasted place, really.

oOoOo

Harry had talked to three separate professors since he'd arrived, four if you counted Madame Pomfrey, and he _still_ hadn't gotten a straight answer. It was beginning to drive him a bit insane, if he were going to be perfectly honest. Which he generally never was, given it was somewhat of a hobby of his to drive other people insane with not-answers. Payback downright _sucked_, now that he thought about it.

Thankfully, he wasn't as dumb as most of the people he routinely tormented, but even a dead troll could figure out that the black hole-thing was big news. Practically all the questions he was asked revolved around the hole-thing, and practically none besides a few cursory ones were about what he was doing at Hogwarts, or even what he was doing before he arrived, which Harry batted aside quid pro quo as usual. The professors were so distracted it wasn't even a challenge, really.

No, what he was really irritated about was how no one would tell him anything, and kept rushing about furiously, wringing their hands. If he was in the middle of something as important as this seemed to be, he'd at least like to have a faint idea of _what the hell was going on,_ thank you very much.

Things were just as unclear maybe forty minutes later when Dumbledore flamed into the hospital ward on his pet pheonix, upsetting a stand of empty flasks and unpleasantly sharp-looking syringes hung out to dry on a wheeled cart. The resulting five minutes was much more of the same, with Harry's sorely tested patience fraying just that little bit more.

By the time Dumbledore had managed to disentangle the phoenix's tail feathers from the cart, Harry had given up on any explanation whatsoever and was resolutely staring out the window, vowing to find out anyway.

"Ah, Harry, my dear boy, could you spare a moment?" That was the old coot, come to interrogate him again.

Harry didn't bother twisting to face the Headmaster. It was childish and petulant, but _he _was feeling childish and petulant. "If you're going to ask me about the hole, then you'd probably be better off asking one of the Professors. _They_ know more about this whole thing than I do."

A grandfatherly chuckle as Dumbledore settled on the hospital bed next to Harry, the mattress creaking and sagging. "That may be, but I'd still like to hear about it from you, my dear boy."

This time it wasn't a request.

Harry resigned himself to having his modified version of the truth extracted once again. "I was visiting Diagon Alley when I ran into Professor Snape, who stated that it was too dangerous to wander about unsupervised, never mind that I had taken precautions."

What was probably meant to be a comforting hand settled on Harry's back. "Yes, Severus can be a bit overbearing sometimes." _Understatement._ "He meant well, though, and it truly isn't safe for you to wander off alone, my dear boy. Even if Voldemort has been unusually quiet recently, there are still many unsavoury types in the Wizarding World. Wards have been placed around your aunt's house, my dear boy, and you are only safe within those wards."

"You can't honestly expect me to spend the whole summer cooped up inside a house, Headmaster."

"Call me Albus, my dear boy. You have a point, I concede. In the future, however, I would like to put forward a request that you notify myself or one of the faculty members in advance with the case of such an outing, so that we can arrange some precautions. That would be only fair, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir." Harry grudgingly admitted. _Not that it was going to stop him if he wanted to visit Knockturn again._

"Now, about this hole..."

* * *

A/N: So... It's been a long time, ne? I humbly apologize. Hope this makes up at least somewhat; it's the product months of writer's block and then a one day four-hour writing splurge.

So, the plot is finally gaining momentum. Don't expect huge things like this will start happening around every turn of the plot, though, we've still got a bit to go for that. It's definitely a turning point in the story, though, from now on there's less hinting and more action. The cat's out of the bag, so to speak. Also, more action with Snape, and even more blatant hints that he's not quite what he seems. And if you honestly haven't noticed by now, that's... I have no words.

~K.R.B.


	23. Curious Case of the Jamaican Fruit Bat

Brief Summary: Harry is at Hogwarts, after being caught lurking in Knockturn Alley by one Professor Snape. He promptly has his ass dragged back to Hogwarts, where Snape and co. is distracted by a much bigger problem- what appears to be a hole in time and/or space.

* * *

Harry sighed explosively as he flopped onto his bed, disgusted. Two hours. _Two hours_, and he wasn't able to get a straight answer from the wrinkled old tosser about that- whatever it was.

He willed the curtains to close with a snap, shutting himself into darkness. He stared up at the fabric ceiling above him. His eyebrow twitched.

Damnit. He just knew he wouldn't be able to sleep at all tonight.

oOoOo

The Great Hall looked very strange when empty, Harry decided. Although he liked sitting up at the staff table and being able to gaze imperiously over the poor, misguided, (nonexistent) student population. Perhaps he should become a professor.

Not Divination, though, he didn't think he could spend another moment cooped up with that fluttering, clanking, gauzy _menace._ He wondered if he'd have to put up with this every day if he became a professor, and shuddered.

"More Pumpkin juice, dear?" Professor Sprout asked kindly.

Harry bit back an enormous yawn (wouldn't do to be impolite, after all) and sleepily nodded his thanks. Dumbledore looked irritatingly cheery in eye-searing orange as he chatted to McGonagall.

Severus Snape, unwillingly frogmarched from his dusky quarters in the dungeons and seated next to Harry, was having similar vision problems as he rubbed at his eyes, exasperated. Some people had too much fun being an irritatingly cheerful morning person. He swore Albus was trying to blind someone.

This was probably all part of the blasted nutter's plan, too, curse him all to blazes.

"I swear, as soon as I get out of here, I am going to research phoenix-proof wards." Severus growled under his breath, determinedly ignoring the pair of hauntingly familiar emerald eyes that was examining him from the next chair over. He ignored the aborted snort of laughter as well. Children.

Harry soon found himself pulled into another conversation with the friendly Head of Hufflepuff, discussing the _weather_, of all things. The conversation soon shifted to his possible- probable- stay at Hogwarts, though, and Dumbledore joined in, apparently tired of trying to coax out any semblance of a conversation with Professor Snape.

"Harry will have to return to his Aunt's house, of course." Dumbledore argued. "With the wards, it _is_ the safest place on earth for him to be."

"Nonsense, Albus." Pomona rebutted. "The poor boy's already spent the necessary two weeks at his Aunt's; the wards will be fine."

Dumbledore looked gravely concerned. "I'm afraid it's a matter of safety, Pomona."

"Absolute hogwash. Hogwarts is as safe as it ever will be. All the professors will be here at one time or another, including yourself, Headmaster, and you can't tell me the boy will lack for things to do. There's only a week or so left 'til school begins, after all."

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Yes... You do raise a valid point, Pomona."

"Oh, for bloody-" Snape interjected, his face like a thundercloud as he gripped his goblet hard enough that it actually groaned a little. "Just let the boy stay, Albus. He'll just wander off somewhere again, _alone_, if you return him to that horrid muggle's house. Merlin knows he already did it easily enough."

Dumbledore pondered for another moment, his eggs cooling as he became lost in the realms of some vast, Dumbledorian thought.

Harry startled when the venerable old Headmaster spoke at last; he had been staring up at the ceiling and daydreaming ever since Professor Sprout had begun her rather one-sided conversation.

"And what about you, my dear boy?"

_Eh? _He blinked and furiously cast his mind back over the conversation he had been passively eavesdropping on. Sunshine, something about the medicinal properties of heather, and- oh.

"I'd like to stay at Hogwarts, sir." he requested politely. "I wouldn't like to impose on my _dear_ aunt any more than I have to."

Dumbledore clapped his hands enthusiastically. "Then the matter is settled. Young Harry shall stay here, and the professors shall take turns watching him while preparing for the school year. Perhaps we could all show him a little of what we do here, yes?"

He turned to Harry and whispered conspiratorially: "It should prove quite the educational experience, my dear boy."

Harry nodded politely.

He couldn't talk, because his mouth was stuffed full of scrambled egg. Hogwarts served _much_ better quality food than Petunia did. He supposed magic had something to do with it, too. Magic made _everything_ better.

oOoOo

The week passed by in a blur of boxes, papers, and slimy... things. He still wasn't sure why anybody would even want to make a potion with bat spleens in it, or even why the suppliers insisted on sending the bats alive.

Thankfully, he had been spared the task of actually disposing of the little critters, but needless to say, dissecting bats to harvest their organs was not very high on his list of things he wanted to spend his summer doing. Snape seemed to feed off his revulsion, black eyes glittering over the books he was reviewing with every 'squeltch.' He was probably chuckling about it to himself right now, the git. Knowing Snape, the dark professor had probably assigned him the most disgusting jobs he could find just for this exact reason.

The last twist of bat intestines was deposited neatly into a jar, a drop of blood splattering against Harry's face. He didn't blink, although he did briefly pause to push up his glasses, leaving a smear of bright blood on one of the lenses. A spleen went into another jar to pickle, the brain into another.

Harry stripped off his bloody dragonhide gloves as the charm on the door of the potions alerted him to an approaching presence.

"Sev! Severus!"

The door swung open, and Harry peered curiously at whoever had the audacity to barge into Severus Snape's personal potions lab.

He blinked as a head of bleach-blonde hair entered his field of vision. Who-

The blonde stopped. His voice was puzzled. "Potter? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same for you, Malfoy." Harry answered coolly, still a bit flummoxed. Draco Malfoy? What could Draco Malfoy possibly want with Snape this early in the school year?

And for that matter...

"Sev?" His voice was teasing.

Draco flushed slightly. "So? If you have a problem with my godfather, Potter, you can take it up with him."

Harry held up his hands placating. "Hey, no need to start in already. Term hasn't even started, and I've already had enough of bat spleens to last a _lifetime_."

Draco stole over to take a closer look at the pitiful desecrated carcass of what was once a Jamaican Fruit Bat.

He was slightly impressed at Harry's thoroughness. That, and the blood and bits of intestine spattered over seemingly the entire table. He wondered how many more bats Potter planned to dismember. At this rate, the population of bats would be taking a nosedive very shortly. "Nice. Severus must trust you, to let you mess around with his collection."

Potter looked vaguely sickened. "Trust me? He's had me in here for practically the past three days! I can't remember the last time I saw the sky."

Okay, so that was a slight exaggeration. Didn't mean he liked dissecting fruit bats though. He thought his eyes were going to _bleed _from the monotony of it all. He was almost ready to take a kitchen knife to a House Elf or something, just to change things up a bit.

"I swear, I am going to start _dreaming_ about bat spleens if I have to do this any longer."

Draco looked suitably sympathetic. "Ask him for something else to dissect then."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, I can just see it now. I'll be dissecting Flobberworms until Christmas, knowing him."

Draco snorted a most un-Malfoy-ish snort. "True. Although, if you're really that opposed, I can put in a good word for you. You'll owe me, though."

He flinched as Harry grabbed his hand and shook it violently. "_Thank you._" Harry vowed vehemently.

"It's not _that_ bad, is it?"

"You have _no idea_, Malfoy, you have _no idea_."

oOoOo

Snape paused to examine his table as he gathered up a few more bat spleens for the potions he was working on currently.

He blinked. Spare bat parts and bits of fur were littered about as if a violent, vengeful storm had swept through and decimated a few dozen colonies of hapless bats.

Snape shook his head, eyes fastened to the gory table. A wan smile spread across his face. "I swear, that boy gets more like his mother every year..." He half-muttered. [1]

oOoOo

Thankfully, school started and Harry was saved from further bat part inspections, which were shortly replaced by the familiar humdrum of classes and schoolwork.

Harry tottered into his personal nook in the library and dropped a stack of books that, in all possibilities, was probably taller than he was. It swayed precariously from where he had unceremoniously deposited it on the table. He reached for the one on the top and started to read.

Advanced Charms. Sounded fascinating.

oOoOo

"-tter? Potter?"

Harry started and dryly reminded himself to work on that. His situational awareness _sucked_.

"Yes, Draco?" he drawled, trying to pretend like the blond hadn't completely taken him out of the blue. "And what brings your majesty here today, kind sir?"

Draco frowned petulantly. "You're _always_ in here, Potter. Honestly, if you weren't so much of a Slytherin, I'd worry that Granger had somehow managed to spawn a clone."

"I highly doubt that," Harry muttered, eyes already drifting back to the text he held in his hands. "Clones are advanced magic."

A pale hand waved in front of his face, breaking his concentration.

Harry sputtered crossly. "What was that for, Malfoy?"

Draco crossed his arms. "See, that's what I'm talking about!"

Harry was vaguely bemused.

Draco continued. "You always spend _way_ too much time in the library, and whenever people try to ask you things, you always wriggle out of it and we wind up talking about something completely different! Don't think I haven't noticed."

Harry twitched. His voice was strained when he spoke. "_Draco_, either kindly get to the point, or I will evict you. I've been _dying_ to test my Banishing spell lately."

Draco shot him an irritated glance at having his monologue interrupted, but continued anyway. "You know twice as much magic as anyone else our age, and whenever anyone who's not a fourth year or higher tries to talk to you, it's like you're toying with them. Toying with _us_." He growled in frustration. "You're a bloody mystery, Potter; or haven't you noticed?"

"I fail to see what this has to do with your interruption."

Draco twitched. "Okay, that's it, you twit."

He grabbed Harry's sleeve and near-dragged him out of the secluded space.

Harry naturally protested. "Watch it, this is a designer robe! And where the hell are you taking me, anyway?"

"This is an intervention!" Draco declared. "And you deserve it, so don't complain. Besides, it's about time you actually joined us at dinner."

"Let go of me, dammit! I want to _read_!"

"See, _this_ is your problem!"

"Oww! Merlin's balls, Malfoy, what is your bloody _problem_?"

* * *

[1] Before anyone starts yelling at me, Lily is not a homicidal maniac. Remember that Harry was angry (or at least irritated) when he was dicing the bat. Also remember that this is a _bat_. And the matter of Snape's reputation. And the matter of Lily's temper. This was more for humor, though, so don't get all bent out of shape about it.

A/N: So, that was pretty quick. I cranked the whole thing out in about three hours or so, with breaks for dinner and snacks. I feel pretty good right now, maybe a little tired. I hope the rest of the chapters are this easy to write...


	24. Red and Green

Brief Recap: Harry spends the summer dismembering bats. Later, during the school year, he gets dragged to the Great Hall for a social intervention, courtesy of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione waited until the last stragglers had drifted out of the dorms, gossiping about boys and school, as usual, before she allowed herself to sigh. Explosively, as it turned. This "Gryffindor" business was harder than she thought.

Oh, the actual socializing wasn't that all that hard. It was going rather well, actually, considering it had been only, oh, maybe half a year since she had actually been trying to make friends with any amount of effort. Especially considering her previously abysmal level.

No, it was the Gryffindors themselves, the twits. Nothing more on _their_ minds than their next meal, Quidditch, or what so-and-so said last Tuesday... Just like mindless _beasts_. It was enough to make her want to strangle them. Didn't they _see_?

But no, _she_ was far older, _she_ had seen things beyond their worst nightmares. They would never understand; she knew that long ago, when she had given up trying. Still, it was so terribly trying.

Hermione wearily closed her eyes, but never relaxed her grip on her magic. She pushed more power into the thin strands of magic that she had spun all over Hogwarts after her awakening last year. Barely a summer had passed, but the strands had already become thin and brittle, snapping in some places.

She permitted herself a tight frown as she knit a hole in the web back together. Hogwarts was suffering- no, magic itself was suffering. She didn't have that much time to repair everything; _they_ would be expecting her at dinner. She could only hope she wasn't too late.

oOoOo

Blaise Zabini wasn't sure what to make of Potter. For one, a person who could make a _Malfoy_ sit up and take notice was certain to be fairly important, even discounting the whole Dark Lord business. For another, he was seemingly oblivious of Parkinson's jealous glares, something no one had accomplished to date except for perhaps Dumbledore. When a Parkinson was angry, everyone in the near vicinity knew it.

His manner didn't match the stories Zabini had heard at all, but then again, any remotely human being would have a hard time matching half the rumors that flew around Hogwarts. A vampire hunter one day, an undercover U.S. Secret Service Auror the next, even a reincarnation of one of the Founders! Really, the ridiculous things these people came up with! Blaise was honestly beginning to think all those Quidditch concussions were finally beginning to take their toll.

The rumors had one thing right, though. Harry Potter was a thoroughly mysterious boy- even after a year of classes with the Gryffindors, Blaise still knew next to nothing about Potter. He went through classes more or less quietly, the absolute paragon of all model students everywhere, then vanished off to the library. Only the most hardcore Ravens spent that much time in the dusty heaps of books that Hogwarts held, and even they ventured out every now and then for a Hogsmeade weekend and meals.

Oh, to be sure, Potter was always perfectly polite and well-mannered whenever he was cornered- but that didn't change the fact that he always managed to slither out of whatever the curious students came up with _this_ time, usually without actually answering their (nosy) questions in the slightest.

It was all part of the huge mystery that surrounded Potter and his life before he came to Hogwarts, and if there was one thing Blaise hated, it was mysteries.

No, Blaise decided, he would have to be a fool to let such an opportunity pass by. His gaze sharpened, and he watched the short, messy-haired boy attentively.

oOoOo

Harry tried not to let his discomfort show as he mentally fidgeted. When Draco had convinced, no, _dragged_ Harry to the Slytherin table, Harry had initially expected at least some awkwardness. After all, he _was_ the Boy-Who-Lived, and this _was_ the Slytherin Table. Some amount of awkwardness was going to be involved, whether he liked it or not. He had to admit, though, that this was a bit more than he'd bargained for.

He could see Pansy Parkinson out of the corner of his eye, glaring for all her worth as Draco chattered obliviously on. Zabini was shooting him what was probably meant to be a deep, soul-searching stare, but actually wound up looking more like a one-sided staring contest.

Perhaps he could accidentally-on-purpose knock over a goblet of pumpkin juice and escape in the commotion. It was a good plan, Harry mentally noted. Simple. He liked that.

Harry slipped his wand out of its holster and held it discretely under the table. Hogwarts was already full of magic. Who would notice a little more?

oOoOo

Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Lavender Brown was amusing herself with her latest pastime- playing fashion police.

"And _have_ you seen her new jacket? It clashes with her hair terribly, don't you agree?" Lavender turned expectantly to the newest member of her social circle, Hermione Granger. She was not disappointed.

"Oh, I don't know Lavender." Hermione asserted faux-primly, casting an eye over the indicated Ravenclaw. "The jacket's a lovely shade of teal- It's her hair that clashes."

Lavender tittered. "You put it so perfectly, 'Mione!"

Perfectly, indeed. She actually fancied the jacket herself- such a beautiful shade of blue. It would look absolutely stunning on her, Lavender was sure of it. But maybe it would look even better on-

She cast a critical glance at Hermione out of the corner of her eye, somewhat worried. But no, she reassured herself, teal did no favors for Hermione's own slightly frizzy hair.

She took a sip of her pumpkin juice. It fizzed pleasantly in her mouth.

Poor creature, everyone _had_ thought she was such a stuck-up priss at the beginning of the year, but all it had really taken was a bit of time to open up _properly_. Old habits- and strict parents- stuck fast, after all. But who would have thought? Why, Lavender even fancied her hair frizzed quite a bit less- and her teeth hardly stuck out at all now! And of course, Hermione was _far_ more popular than she had been as a fusty old bookworm. Yes, it was all thanks to the good graces of one Lavender Brown.

She completely missed Hermione's look of disgust.

Life was good.

oOoOo

Hermione barely concealed a grimace of disgust. Poor creature, indeed... If anyone was a poor creature, it was that Brown herself! Her mind was absolutely filthy, a cobwebby carpeted hallway covered in tacky wallpaper of various garish shades of color and populated mostly by bits of old issues of _Witch Weekly_ and scraps of parchment fluttering everywhere. The lighting was dim, and in the corners and cabinets old insecurities lurked like Boggarts. Hermione knew there was a beautiful old mansion under there, but for the life of her she still couldn't see it.

A niggle in the back of her mind dragged her abruptly out of Lavender Brown's mindscape. Hermione jolted suddenly, barely managing to keep from knocking Lavender's goblet off the overcrowded table. An alert.

Her mind was occupied trying to determine the source of the alarm as she yawned convincingly and quickly excused herself.

As soon as she slipped out of the crowded Hall, her eyes flew wide open, pretended weariness clearing from her face like it had never had existed.

New Hampton.

She had a destination.

Hermione hurried out of the school, taking several old, dusty shortcuts that probably hadn't been opened since the school was built, judging by the number of cobwebs. The stones creaked shut behind her as the passageways sealed, leaving her outside in the cool night.

Hogwarts towered above her, leaving her in shadow, and a wide lawn stretched out in front of her, ending at the moonlight-dappled shadows of the Forbidden Forest. The trees swayed in a slight breeze, unseen animals whispering to each other in strange, inhuman creaks and chirps.

The frosty air nipped at her unprotected fingers, and Hermione felt the corners of her mouth hook into a smile as she took a deep breath of the chilly night air. She always _had_ felt more at home here than anywhere else.

She left a trail of lightly bent grass stems behind her as she sprinted into the Forbidden Forest, robes fluttering behind her.

* * *

**A/N: The chapter was way overdue, I know. Part of that was probably procrastination, part of that was planning for future chapters, and part of that was the insane schedule I have this year. I'm managing, but it doesn't really leave a lot of spare time. Still, that's not really an excuse. Terribly sorry, I'll try and be more prompt in the future. Cheers! Oh, and Happy Halloween in advance! (Not quite there yet, but soon!)**

**~K.R.B.**


	25. Burning Brightly

"Speaking"

_Thoughts/Emphasis_

_**"Incantations"**  
_

Recap: Social interventions, well-meaning friends, and awkward conversations abound. Hermione is up to something mysterious...

* * *

Harry blocked out the usual racket of the Great Hall, only half listening to Draco's idle chatter as he focused on Draco's goblet.

_Have to time this just right- There!_

As Pansy reached for the mashed potatoes, Harry flicked his wand lightly under the table.

The goblet wavered, barely noticeable, teetering on one edge. And then it tipped over. Right onto Draco's expensive, one-of-a-kind hand tailored _favorite_ Acromantula silk blouse.

It looked completely natural. Harry was proud, even if he did say so himself. His own type of magic tended more to the 'giant explosions and alarm bells ringing' side. Not that he couldn't _do_ subtlety, it just took a bit more effort that was usually wasted, because explosions took care of any annoyances quickly enough. Plus, it was incredibly amusing to watch things blow up. Sort of stress relieving.

It took Draco a few moments to realize what had just occurred. Sticky-sweet pumpkin juice oozed slightly down his front, leaving a perfectly horrid-looking orange stain that probably would leave the House-elves scratching their heads in frustration for ages. In all likelihood, it never _would _come out. Draco trailed off mid-sentence as he took in the scene and its implications. Pansy turned as white as a sheet and began to babble something under her breath. And then the fireworks started.

"_Parkinson_." Draco hissed, his eyes turning steely. If there was anything Draco took seriously, it was his immaculate appearance and custom-tailored wardrobe. It was a habit instilled in all Malfoys since birth, after all.

Pansy 'meeped' faintly and tried to shrink out of the hall, unfortunately colliding with Harry, who had chosen this moment to slip away under a Disillusionment. Harry took a quick glance at the murderous Draco, drawing himself up in fury even more with every passing second, and quickly tossed Pansy back into the Hall without a second thought, shooting a general 'notice me not' spell at the Slytherin table as an afterthought as he shot out the doorway at a dead sprint. His wellbeing was infinitely more important than the life of some girl he didn't know, and she hated him anyway so it wasn't really a loss.

...This had almost nothing to do with the fact that he had never seen Draco quite as angry before, and had no wish to stick around in the unlikely event he was connected with this completely unrelated incident.

He was not running away- It was an expeditious retreat, because Harry Potter was first and foremost not a coward. He was a Gryffindor! It was what they did. (He ignored the snide voice in his head that sarcastically asked him how the Hat was doing today, and whether he wanted to flambé any more headwear.)

Harry increased his stride, now practically flying down the hallway until he collapsed onto an open window seat somewhere on the fourth floor, chest heaving and legs burning from exertion. He really needed to exercise more, Harry noted absently. His Christmas resolution hadn't really gone anywhere. There were so many other interesting things he could be doing at Hogwarts, and he really hated exercising...

He glanced out of the window as his heartbeat finally began to slow down. The grounds were peaceful at night, the tips of the crooked trees in the Forbidden Forest highlighted by silvery moonlight. It was a magical scene. Involuntarily, Harry smiled slightly as his own magic hummed in response, and he shifted to get a better view.

His eyes immediately narrowed as he picked up a dark shape gliding across the lawn at a decent clip. He sat up, hands pressed against the glass, his breath fogging the glass slightly as his vision sharpened to pick out the flutter of a robe disappearing into the Forbidden Forest. He could feel a trace of a familiar magic still lingering behind on the wind, soothing and energizing him all at once. His own magic urged him onward, and a sense of wistful longing swept briefly through his body.

He hesitated briefly before slipping out his wand and undoing the locked iron catches holding the window shut, kicking it open. His eyes briefly fluttered shut as the icy night breeze brushed past black hair, stirring it gently. The world was perfectly still for one shining moment.

And then he jumped, robes streaming behind him as the ground spiraled up to meet him. Ten feet before impact, his descent slowed until his feet touched the ground with no more force than if he had simply hopped off of a bench.

For his part, Harry took off as soon as his feet hit the hard-packed soil of Hogwarts' environs, Dragonhide boots digging into the grass as he chased after the illusive figure vanishing into the trees.

oOoOo

Hermione glanced behind herself as she wove through the trees gracefully, practically dancing as she ducked under leafy branches and hopped over logs. The forest seemed deserted, but she knew better. She was being followed.

In the distance she heard the muffled snap of a twig as her pursuer slipped up. Her lip curled slightly as she registered the haphazardly-suppressed magic signature.

Honestly. Of all the times...

oOoOo

Harry mentally cursed as he sprinted as quickly and as silently as he could after the robed figure. He hadn't gotten any closer since he first began to chase him- or her- and the figure was actually gaining distance. Harry now regretted his earlier procrastination after Christmas; he was beginning to get a bit lightheaded and his lungs were burning. He was beginning to slip up, accidentally stepping on twigs or scattering pebbles as he scrabbled for another foothold to heave himself forward.

And then suddenly, the chase ended.

Harry stumbled out of the dark woods into a grassy moonlit clearing strewn with rocks. It was deserted. His heart plummeted into his stomach. Had it all been a part of his imagination?

Impossible... and yet, if he was right, then where were they?

Harry shut his eyes tightly, gasping for breath. His fingers curled into his palms in frustration, white-knuckled from the pressure. And his eyes flew open as he realized what had happened, and eyed the innocent-looking stone lying on the ground, in the last place he had seen the mysterious wizard.

His breath caught in wonder. A Portkey. So simple.

Harry scooped the stone- more of a pebble really- up and considered it for a second, eyes really focused on the leftover magic still floating around the rock. It was a one-use Portkey, the kind with an anchor at both ends, but that wasn't a problem. He could follow the strands wherever they led quite easily. No, the real problem was that he would have no say over where he was spat out of the system. It could be in the middle of an ocean, surrounded by Dementors, anywhere- if he emerged at all. It would be an even bigger leap of faith than if he had leapt out of that window without a wand, trusting his life to chance.

Harry eyed the rock with trepidation. But then his magic dragged him onward, and he knew he had no choice.

"_**Portus.**_"

In the darkness of a forest clearing, an ordinary-looking rock fell from thin air to bounce on a tuft of grass and roll behind a clump of Leaping Toadstools.

oOoOo

Hermione was sucked out of the whirling chaos of Portkey travel with a soft pop, landing with a thump and a muffled curse behind a outcropping of large boulders at the edge of New Hampton. She immediately slipped her wand out of her sleeve and flicked it, severing the Portkey connection as the rock was blasted into gravel.

She hadn't wanted to do this (the Portkey had actually been her planned escape route) but her exit strategy was compromised now. If she was quick enough, Potter wouldn't have been able to find the Portkey in time, let alone recreate the connection. She would do everything in her power to protect him, after all, and accidentally stranding him in warpspace wouldn't be conducive to that. She needed him whole, alive, and still a player in this little war for what she wanted.

Hermione quickly silenced her footsteps and darted out from the boulders to hide behind a nearby shed, and from there to a crouch in some muggle's ornamental shrubbery.

The night was lit up with the orange glow of fire, and Hermione could faintly hear the terrified whimpers of the muggles unfortunate enough to run into that self-styled Lord Voldemort's entourage.

Hermione honestly could care less about the muggles.

_A little voice deep down whispered screams, pleas to save her parents, pleas for acquaintances, neighbors, and friends._

Hermione nudged that voice back into place, and it dropped back into the uneasy slumber it had occupied ever since she had first tested her control.

The muggles weren't her problem, and as far as she was concerned, they were dangerous. The world was better off without them. Some of the things they had invented- that she had seen them invent over the years, that she had seen used, that had _been_ used on her- honestly, utterly, and completely terrified her, chilling her to the core.

Guns? Hah! Those muggles- those seemingly insignificant, weak muggles- had grown up into a threat even bigger than she could have ever imagined in her original time. It wasn't enough to just lay waste to a country or two now. No, now they held the power the destroy the world in their petty little conflicts. That was unacceptable.

Her eyes grew flinty. _She_ had been the hidden protector of wizardkind for centuries, working from the shadows ever since the last Lord had walked among them back in her time. Godric hadn't understood. No one ever had. But it was a job that needed to be done, and whether they were weak-willed and ignorant sheep or no, she refused to let _her people_ be destroyed.

It was the reason she was here, today, crouching in some shrub rather than safe and dignified at home, living the warm and loving life she had never had. Self-styled Lord or no, Voldemort was at present a major player in this little gamble she had running. She would need his... assistance, as much as she hated to admit it, even if he _had_ killed many valuable witches and wizards in the name of blood purity. One wizard did not an army make.

But her pride could wait. Her people, her very way of life was at stake.

She would contact him during the raid, if at all possible, when his followers would be distracted and he would be in a good mood. It was crucial that she not be spotted; that all go according to plan. Her current body wasn't very imposing, after all, and it would be a great setback to lie buried in an attic for another hundred years. Hermione couldn't afford that. Not now. Not ever.

oOoOo

A nauseating feeling gripped Harry as he was tossed to and fro, yanked through a sea of colors by the 'hook' that was the Portkey's magic. The trip seemed to last for ages, although it was probably more like seconds.

Harry grew uneasy. No Portkey he had ever ridden had been this turbulent, or taken this long. He began to have the sinking feeling that something had gone wrong again, but in that instant he was yanked painfully out of warpspace and into thin air. He flailed uselessly for a few milliseconds before gravity asserted itself and he plummeted to earth.

Upon landing, he promptly turned his head to the side and upchucked, narrowly missing someone's polished black boots.

He gingerly wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, fumbling for his wand as he squinted upward, his eyes adjusting to the harsh orange light.

His wand finally escaped his grasping fingers and clattered to the street as he realized just whose boots he had nearly puked on.

"...Well. Shit." Harry eloquently summed up the situation as he stared up into the crimson eyes of a very snake-like and very much alive Lord Voldemort. Maybe he wasn't, you know, angry? He _had _let him escape with the Stone that time, sort-of, so maybe...

For a very long moment, Lord Voldemort stared back. "...Potter."

That was when the all hell broke loose. Any semblance of peace went downhill as spells were hurled and muggles and Death Eaters found new and incredibly inventive ways to die. Harry would have congratulated them on their creativity, except, well, they were dead and couldn't hear him. Also the fact that he was currently engaged in a rather one-sided totally-not-epic battle to the death with a (only partially!) enraged Dark Lord.

"Mysterious magical powers would be really brilliant right about now!" Harry called out half-hysterically as he dove behind what had to be the fifteenth marble birdbath. He had to sprint for safety yet again as a brightly-colored curse shattered his hiding place into so much shrapnel.

Oh yes, Lord Voldemort was pissed.

The muggle village didn't stand a chance.

oOoOo

Hermione shuffled a few millimeters forward, eyes trained on the spectral figure of the recently resurrected Voldemort. The loss of the Philosopher's Stone had been an irritating setback for her bargaining terms, but she had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat yet again. This time, the plan would work. She would make it work. Chocolate brown eyes glazed over slightly in a mixture of fanatic devotion and determination.

A sudden cracking sound drew her out of her thoughts, and she blinked. She immediately squinted, vision almost supernaturally sharpening in an attempt to get a better look at the unfortunate witch or wizard that had managed to land in the middle of a Death Eater raid.

Hermione's eyes flew wide open in panicked horror as she realized just who had gate-crashed the dark lord's little party.

"_Potter..._"

She tugged her hood on firmly and checked to make sure the Sticking Charm on her mask was secure, then leaped out of the pathetic shelter the garden shrubbery provided and fought for her life, casting the strongest protection charm she could behind her at Potter. It would buy her the time to fight off the Death Eaters that she needed until she could put her plan into action.

Pity. Hermione really _had_ hoped to do this without too many casualties to her army-to-be, but there were fifty of them and one of her, and honestly, the odds weren't looking very friendly right now.

High in the air above the nightmarish scene, a distorted circle of the night sky began to ripple and warp as tendrils of black mist snaked out and dissolved a few fleeing birds. It was the perfect touch to a perfectly dreadful night, Hermione thought.

If only it was someone else's problem.

oOoOo

Harry was busy fighting for his life when he was abruptly grabbed by the collar of his robes, yanked out of the path of a Killing Curse, and unceremoniously stuffed behind a large set of boulders. He tried to protest, only to find out his voice had apparently gone on vacation and that he had been trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

He wriggled mutely and tried to get a good look at his kidnapper, who was currently engaged in staring out into the chaos, occasionally ducking to avoid a curse and sending one or two back with snarled incantations. Something was off about him- that was for sure. He was too short, for one, and his voice seemed oddly high-pitched, almost feminine...

No, his attacker was definitely not who he appeared to be, Harry decided as he focused his magic enough to eat through the magic in his restraints.

The Silencio was not quite shredded by the time a badly aimed Reducto careened past their hiding place, spraying sharp stone fragments everywhere and ripping off his kidnapper's hood. Harry was treated to a split second view of still-slightly-bushy brown hair and brown eyes narrowed in irritation before she grabbed his sleeve and squeezed both of them through a too-small tunnel in space and time. Multiple times.

He vaguely noticed that they were in a forest when they finally landed, possibly the Forbidden Forest.

Then Harry was too busy spewing his guts out to bother ruminating about anything. Merlin, he _hated_ Side-along Apparating.

When he finally managed to empty he contents of his stomach and sit up, the small forest clearing was deserted. No doubt Ginger- Gringer? Granger?- was long gone by now.

With a groan, Harry heaved himself onto his feet. It was too late to confront Granger today- no doubt Draco had already turned the castle inside out while searching for his newest best friend. Not to mention, all Harry wanted to do was fall into his bed and sleep for a few days.

He sighed, and began the long trek back to the castle.

...Somehow, he just knew his body would be one large bruise tomorrow morning.

* * *

**A/N: New chapter! *celebrates* This was actually sitting around for a bit, but I finished writing the end and edited it today. No worries, Harry and Not!Hermione _will_ have a Very Serious Talk, very soon. At any rate, I'm glad we got the dodging around the subject done; I was getting tired of writing him/her and "his kidnapper" every other sentence. **

**Also, we learn a bit more about Not!Hermione this chapter, a blatant hint as to who/what she is (assuming you haven't guessed already) and a bit of background information. Of course, she has her own agenda. I'm pretty sure everyone in this story does; the fun part is seeing what actually happens when all these agendas collide. Usually, it's absolute chaos.**

**Oh, and before I forget. A bit of clarification: New Hampton IS Hermione's hometown. Canon does not actually say what the name of the place is, so I took a few liberties. Not!Hermione was not there to stop the Death Eater raid; the raid just happened to get in the way.**


	26. Past and Present

Voldemort was frustrated.

No, that wasn't the right word. Voldemort was downright _furious._

That raid had been months in the making. When Potter had deigned to drop in, he had thought Lady Luck was finally smiling on him once more. Potter was only a second year, all uncanny dueling skills aside. There was only so much a wizard could do with tickling charms and Petrificus Totalus against several fully trained crack teams of _very lethal_ Death Eaters, after all. Even if their skills were a little rusty from Azkaban, there should have been no question as to the victor of _that_ match.

And yet, someone had managed to waltz in and ruin the raid that he had spent _so long_ planning, batting his Death Eaters around like they were Ping Pong balls.

No, there was definitely a new player in the little game between himself and Dumbledore.

That was unaccepta-

Voldemort's eyes narrowed abruptly. His wand instantly trained on the poor soul who _dared_ interrupt his solitude.

"Show yourself." he snarled. "My Inner Circle know better than to disturb me in my study."

The figure in the shadows- how long had he been there?- chuckled derisively, but acquiesced.

"I'm afraid I can't say too much for your security, _Tom_. Your guards are sorely incompetent, even if I do say so myself."

Voldemort's eyes widened, even if his pupils dilated in rage.

"_You!_" he spat, eyes fairly glowing in fury.

"Yeas, me." the figure said amicably, pushing back his hood to reveal suspiciously bright brown eyes and a mass of brown curls that could only be described as "bushy."

A wave of mingled anger and humiliation swept over him, so powerful that he actually rocked back into his chair for a moment.

A girl. His top Death Eaters had been bested by a _little girl_. He had been held off by a _little girl_. This was beyond humiliating.

Then the rage and humiliation passed, and for the first time in years, Lord Voldemort allowed himself to feel a trickle of fear.

Someone had bested him for the first time since Dumbledore. Not just anyone, either- a Hogwarts student, not more than a Third Year by the looks of it. Such a thing should be impossible, and yet... The proof stood in front of him, completely unharmed and even cheerful by the looks of it.

She was a complete unknown, and she knew far too much.

The girl smiled, holding her wand loosely by her side. Her eyes never left his. She was, Voldemort realized, completely at ease in his presence.

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

The intruder grinned impishly. "Nothing terribly important. Honestly? I just dropped by to see how my favorite Dark Lord was doing. Planning another attack on Dumbledore, I hope? "

Voldemort gritted his teeth, eyes never leaving the girl. "Get to the point."

She smiled magnanimously. "As you wish. I heard you were recruiting?"

Voldemort's brain shut down for a moment as he considered the implications of that statement.

When he spoke, his voice was flat and utterly unamused. "You ruined a raid months in the planning, killed my wizards, allowed Potter to escape, and broke into my study _just _to join my side in the war. Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical."

The chit had the good grace to wince. "Well, I originally intended to contact you on more amicable terms after the raid ended, for all that's worth." she offered. "Unfortunate circumstances arose."

"I... see." Voldemort said faintly.

"You don't, actually." she said dismissively. "I rather expected that, though."

He felt his eye twitch. "You don't say."

She ignored him, rushing onward. "Yes, well, you've never been very sensible where Potter was involved. And for the record? Your precious Death Eaters aren't dead, just... in suspended animation. One of the many spells I've learned over my illustrious career."

Voldemort decided to push his anger away long enough to hear the girl through, at least. Appearences could be deceiving, after all, and this wasn't the first time an unlikely-looking ally had offered vital aid.

Besides, from what he had seen of her on the battlefield, she was a formidable enemy already. She couldn't be older than thirteen, at the most. Such a dueler would be invaluable to the cause- if she could be properly _controlled_.

"Do tell."

The girl met his eyes calmly, no trace of revulsion or disgust at his scaly appearance apparent in her gaze.

"I propose an alliance. My aid in destroying Dumbledore for Potter's safety."

"What is Potter to you?"

Her face closed down, eyes shuttering. "That is none of your business, now is it?"

Voldemort considered. "What guarantee will I have that Potter will not interfere, as he did today?" He argued harshly. "Potter will hardly be safe if he continues to charge in recklessly. I will not risk my men over a suicidal idiot."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Potter will not be an issue. I will swear it on my very magic, if need be."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, weighing his options.

On the one hand, a powerful ally. On the other... _Well_.

"If we are to be... _allies_, then there must be a proper... introduction." he stated. "You know my name already. It is only fair that you share yours."

The cold expression on her face melted away as if it had never existed, replaced by a satisfied smile that unnerved him even more than the anger had.

"Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Riddle."

He eyed her outstretched hand dubiously, opting to ignore the (obviously insane) girl's mood swings.

"You may address me as Lord Voldemort. I'm afraid I can't say the same."

oOoOo

The next day, Harry could barely concentrate in class. He fidgeted his way through Charms and Herbology, squirmed through Defense, and was so distracted in Transfiguration that he actually turned his rabbit into a bell pepper and set it on fire, instead of turning into the pair of fluffy bunny slippers it was supposed to be.

Professor McGonagall eventually gave up any semblance of trying to help Neville with his hopelessly botched transfiguration and wandered over, her eyebrows rising into her hairline when she saw the formerly green- now quite charred- vegetable.

Harry hastily canceled the transfiguration, pepper reverting to a badly scorched rabbit rolling about in agony on his desk, trying to put out a few last smouldering patches of its charred white fur. He yelped as it rolled off the edge, narrowly missing his lap as it plummeted to the floor and bolted desperately in the opposite direction as quickly as possible.

McGonagall briskly sidestepped the fleeing animal, swishing her wand and sending it soaring up into the box on her desk.

"Potter, what on earth is the matter today?" she demanded. "I declare, that had to have been the sorriest excuse for Transfiguration I've seen out of you all year."

Harry ducked his head sheepishly. "Sorry, Professor. I'm just a little... distracted today, I guess."

McGonagall gave him a long, not-quite-convinced teacherly stare that drilled uncomfortably into his head. " Distraction mid-Transfiguration can prove fatal, Mr. Potter. If you're not prepared to concentrate in class, you should leave now."

Harry's gaze flickered to bushy brown hair for a millisecond. "I'll try harder, ma'am." he lied through his teeth.

McGonagall's gaze narrowed. "See that you do, Mr. Potter."

After what seemed like an eternity (but was probably only a few seconds) McGonagall moved on, pausing to compliment Granger's perfectly formed bunny slippers. Granger's eyes slipped over the classroom, focusing on him for a second.

Unconsciously, his jaw clenched and his fingers tightened around his wand until the wood groaned.

Then she winked. Winked!

She _knew_.

She knew he knew.

She knew he knew and couldn't do anything about it, the _bi-_

He took an ragged breath and forced himself to calm, eyes flashing briefly in fury.

Silently, he began to plan. He hadn't lost his grip like this in a while. Oh, he would enjoy hunting her down after this.

Yes. He would corner her after class, before she could skitter off somewhere like she did after Charms, and one way or another, he would get some _answers_.

Transfiguration couldn't end fast enough.

oOoOo

Two seconds after the bell rang, Harry was out of his seat and down the aisle. Sure enough, Granger was surreptitiously inserting herself into the stream of chattering students pouring out the door.

Harry grabbed her sleeve and frogmarched her out of the door, sparing only an instant to grab his things. He quickly located an empty classroom nearby.

Close enough to be convenient; far enough that professors or other students likely wouldn't stumble upon them by accident. Perfect.

Harry slammed the door shut, quickly locking it behind him and hastily erecting a few basic anti-eavesdropping wards.

"What. Was. That." he demanded.

Perched on a nearby desk, Granger stretched languidly. She looked entirely too unconcerned for his taste.

Her eyes glinted with dark amusement as she twirled her wand lazily. "Pardon? You'll have to be more specific than that, Potter."

Harry growled in frustration. "That. The raid. Everything."

She laughed. "Can't a girl go out for a nice, private nighttime stroll anymore?"

Something in him snapped, and Harry slammed his hands to either side of where Granger was sitting, pinning her to the desktop.

"_Stop bullshitting me!_" He fairly snarled, his magic swirling agitatedly about him.

Granger's eyes narrowed, hardening into chips of amber glass. That was the warning that Harry got.

Half a breath later, she was gone, with only a soft whoosh of air rushing in to mark the place where she had been.

"What the-"

Harry froze as a hard point poked the back of his head.

"I'd suggest you don't move, _boy_." he heard Granger say coldly as her wand prodded his head harshly. "There's a million and one things I can do from here, and I guarantee none of them will be pleasant."

Harry released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding when her wand left the back of his head a few seconds later.

"At ease."

He gratefully collapsed onto a nearby desk.

"You should be grateful." Granger informed him matter-of-factly. "Some people would have blown your head off for such insolence."

Harry took a few minutes to calm his racing heart as he struggled to craft a suitably respectful question.

"...You apparated."

She inclined her head. "So I did."

"We're in Hogwarts."

"And?"

"How? I thought that was impossible- the wards don't allow..."

She considered this thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke.

"What makes you think the rules apply to me, Potter?"

"But that's insane! The only way the wards wouldn't apply to you is if you... made... them..." Harry trailed off. "...A Founder. You're one of the Founders."

Granger looked up, and Harry felt his heart stutter to a halt as a set of bright green eyes pierced him, seemingly pinning him where he stood.

"Took you long enough." Was all she said, her eyes inscrutable as ever. "I am the great Salazar Slytherin. A pleasure, I'm sure."

* * *

**A/N: Hahaha, I know, I'm horrible. Months without updates, and now a cliffhanger?**

**...Honestly, though, I couldn't resist. ****_That... Setup..._**

**So, yeah, I'm really happy with the last scene. As always, I'll be plugging away at a new chapter whenever I get a chance (although Junior year really is as hectic as they say. I'm supposed to be working on an application right now, but hey! Procrastination is the name of the game, right?)**

**Well, things should be on the up and up for Harry from now on. Previously, he's been dealing with discovering a parallel world that he knows next to nothing about- he****_ does_**** need some time to adjust. But he's beginning to find his feet, so we should be seeing the effects of that soon. Of course, there'll still be some bumps in the road (and maybe a cliff or two) but Harry'll start dealing out some punches of his own. **

**Meh, that's probably enough of my rambling for now.**

**Signing out,**

**~K.R.B.**


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